Hustle (Sample and Bonus Chapters)

Warning (Drew POV Bonus Chapter)

My heart speeds up when she wakes, not wanting to let her go yet. It's not so much that she moves, but she stops breathing, stiffens as she lays still. I don't even have to open my eyes to know I'm right, she's awake.

In fact, I don't open my eyes, grabbing onto the last few seconds I have with her in my arms. Any minute now she'll fully realize where she is, and then she'll be gone. But the seconds tick by, and when she does move, it's only a slight shift. She doesn't even fight against me as I tighten my grip on her, testing her resistance.

She stills again, and I coast my fingers over her sweater, over her ribs to the curve of the side of her boob. But I don't continue that path, knowing it will push too far, something I'm trying to avoid this morning. I have to figure out how to apologize her way.

"Drew?" She rasps low, sleep coating my name.

I twirl a cool, silky strand of her hair between my fingers and wait for her to continue, but she doesn't.

She lies still while I continue to play with her hair, my other hand grazing up and down her side. Her body shifts into my touch as she inhales, and I push my luck and pull her close. She rolls into me, her breath warm against my neck as she presses her body flush to mine.

I cross my arms around her, holding her in place, holding her tight. She feels so fucking perfect in my arms, and her compliance is a welcome relief I don't want to question. It shouldn't surprise me anymore how quickly she gives into me, even without an apology. I don't deserve it. But I love that about her all the same. I wonder if that forgiveness will extend to last night. If I explain now, maybe... but no.

"Don't wake up yet. Let's go back to sleep," I soothe into her hair, meaning it, not wanting to do this yet, not wanting to talk. I want to keep the world out, but it's as useless as trying to stop the sun from streaking into my room.

"I don't want to get up yet, either." She slips her cool palms to my stomach, over my side, wrapping her arms around me.

My muscles clench in the wake of her light touch, but the sound of her sad voice pulls me from my own thoughts, and I question her, "How do you feel?"

"Okay." But she doesn't sound okay. Her voice wavers and she closes her eyes on a cringe. Her hesitant touch is still gliding over my skin, up my back, distracting my thoughts. "How do you feel?"

"I'm good, baby. But last night—"

"Oh God." She darts up, slipping from my hold as she escapes, regret clear in her face and words.

"Brook, it's okay." I reach for her, wanting to ease her panic.

"I have to use the restroom," she mumbles and rises to her feet, not meeting my eyes or looking back as she leaves the room.

Damn. Why did I bring up last night? Because I was an idiot. But I wanted to know how she felt. Needed to know, especially since she didn't run right away, she was okay with me holding her, until I spoke up. I needed to know what that meant.

I rise to my feet ready to follow her to the bathroom and demand answers. I almost do, but stop at my door when I hear the running water of the sink. I should give her space. She's got to come out eventually.

I guzzle down the water bottle I have by the bed, but she's still not out. Lying back on the mattress, I count the seconds in my head, like a fucking death march. Each second only makes it worse.

Then she walks in. And I pop up.

"Brook—"

"I'm sorry, can we just forget about last night?" She's talking fast, and her hands are on her face, almost covering it.