Carefully, I slip out from under the covers and drop to my knees on the floor. Maybe I can find some sort of evidence before he wakes up. Something that will appease Giselle, but not something that could hurt Lennox in any kind of way. I slowly turn and start to crawl away from the bed. Lennox rustles behind me. I freeze. I dare a slow head turn in his general direction.
The rise and fall of his chest is steady. Even. Rhythmic. A peaceful, contented smile curls along the edges of his mouth. For a half a second, I take a little bit of pride that I may be at least partially responsible for putting it there. He has one arm crooked, hand tucked beneath a tousled mop of sheepdog blonde. Long, golden lashes brush his high cheekbones as he sleeps undisturbed.
I exhale a heavy, but quiet, sigh of relief and continue my subtle egress. I get halfway across the room when I freeze in my tracks.
What am I doing? This isn’t me! What are you going to do? Dig through his trash? Root through his mail?
On hands and knees in the middle of the floor, I start to give myself a well-deserved mental ass chewing.
“Well, now there’s a position I could get used to.” Lennox’s voice teases in a sleepy drawl behind me. My head droops in embarrassment.
Lennox yawned like lion as he stretched his toned arms over his head. “So, I’ve heard of the ‘walk of shame’, but I gotta admit. I’ve never seen a ‘crawl of shame.’ Where are you off to?”
Alright, Sloane. Suck it up.
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