I hold my breath with every word that comes out of his mouth. At that moment, I have no idea what to say. I’ve imagined a million scenarios where Colt comes back and finally realizes he made a mistake by leaving me the way he did, and I’ve imagined a million more where he’s rich, famous, and doesn’t give a crap about me any more.

It took a couple of wine-and-cry sessions, but I got past those alternate universes, and I moved on. I did. But never, in any of those universes, did I imagine I’d get what I’m getting right now. This confession. These feelings.

A moment passes, and I decide for the sake of my sanity that hopefully Colt thinks I’ve fallen asleep. I’m not concerned with getting the best sleep possible since I’m not playing tomorrow, but my eyes stay open for the next few hours as I contemplate everything I just heard, everything I never thought I would hear. And somehow, I think that maybe Colt is doing the exact same thing.

Next morning, my eyes flutter open to bars of sunlight cast through the room by the slats in the so-called blackout curtains. I’m quite warm and cosy … toasty, even. Getting out of bed would be a crappy move right about now, I think to myself as I hum contentedly and burrow my way back into Colt’s arms.

COLT’S ARMS.

OH MY GOD.

I recoil so fast I think I’m going to knock Colt out cold, throw a punch right at his very muscular chest. There’s no match for us to worry about, but suddenly, I’ve never wanted a game to arrive sooner. I need something to take my mind off whatever the hell I’ve apparently got myself into.

Oh my god. Oh my god. I try my best to disentangle myself without waking Colt up. Our legs lie across one another’s, and there’s a mess of pillows every which way, not at all resembling the wall we’d put together last night. Colt’s arms are ridiculously strong and ridiculously difficult to move from. His hair is all tousled, sticking up in funny directions, a crease mark tracing its way along his cheek. He mumbles in his sleep just as I’m finally creeping off the bed, and I freeze in my tracks, eyes wide. Shit.

Thankfully, the guy doesn’t stir, completely passed out as he is. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and head towards my bag to grab a sweatshirt and running shorts. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.