My shoulders tense and I glance down to see my hands balled in fists. I force them open, along with an exhale. I’m wound so tight, my entire body aches. I can’t even imagine sleeping, but I need to if I want to be my best self tomorrow on set.
Down the hall, I hear movement and the running water of a shower. Jude. I can’t believe I accepted his offer to stay here and to take his room. I still don’t understand him. Every moment I think I do, he goes and does something that catches me off guard. His kindness. His friendship is something I am in desperate need of. And he’s that. A friend. A surprisingly witty, ever-charming, and strikingly handsome friend. One who is down the hall naked and standing under a spray of water. I shake my head and smile. I shouldn’t be thinking about my friend that way.
But Jude has the right idea. A hot shower would do wonders to relieve the day’s stress. I finish unpacking my clothes into the dresser he said I could use, and grab my toiletries along with a T-shirt and boy shorts before heading into the bathroom. I flip on the light and gasp. Holy wow! This bathroom is bigger than my room at the apartment. Seriously, there’s room for two beds in here. I shut the door, lock it, and lean against the sturdy wood, taking everything in. Marble. Glass. Stone. A bathtub built for at least two full-grown adults. Oh, my goodness, look at all those jets! I may never leave.
It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed the luxury of a clean bathtub and I take full advantage, filling it with water so hot it almost burns, along with a generous pour of bath salts that fills the room with a heavenly scent. I strip and sink into the water, letting loose a groan. Settling my head against the edge, I exhale and allow all the tension of the day to dissipate from my tight muscles. The lavender-scented water makes me feel as if I’m at a spa. Not so far-fetched since Jude’s bathroom is nicer than any spa I’ve set foot in.
It’s nice to let my worries go, if only for a short time. I almost fall asleep, body warm and stomach full from the dinner we grabbed after vacating my apartment. But when my fingertips turn to prunes and my bladder begs for its own release, I begrudgingly drain the tub and towel off. After changing into my pajamas and getting ready for bed, I head back into the bedroom.
Strange. The door that leads into the hall is open a few inches. I swear I closed it earlier. A shiver runs up my spine but I shake it off and peek out into the hall. Everything is dark except for a beam of light that runs below a closed door. The guest bathroom, if I remember correctly. Jude’s still inside. A long time for a man, though with his perfect complexion, I wouldn’t doubt his nightly beauty routine rivals my own. I wonder if he sleeps in lounge pants or boxers? Maybe boxer briefs? He rocks the kind of confidence needed to sleep in the nude. I push the tantalizing thought away.
I am not here to sleep with Jude. Fantasizing about him is a surefire way to sway my resolve.
He’s a stranger. But that’s a lie. We’re far less unfamiliar now, and the more time I spend with him, the more my interest sparks.
He’s a good friend. That’s better. And I appreciate him more than he probably knows. I need to change that. Maybe I can do something special for him this week. Special naked. No! My sex-starved libido cannot be trusted for decision making. I need sleep.
Closing the door, I pad over to the bedside lamp and shut it off after checking my cell phone alarm and sending a quick text to my brother so he knows where I’m staying. I leave off that it’s Jude’s condo, but fully know when I wake up tomorrow it’ll be to texts demanding to know the name of my friend.
I lie back onto the sheets. Sweet mother of five-hundred-thread-count linen. This bed is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever rested on. I curl onto my side and snuggle into the pillows, stifling a yawn. God, I’m so tired. Earlier, I worried I might not be able to fall asleep here. I shouldn’t have been. My thoughts slow along with my breathing, exhaustion pulling me toward blissful sleep. Darkness. Utter relaxation. Hello, Mr. Sandman.
The bed dips near my feet.
My heart stops.
My eyelids fly open.
A yelp bursts from my mouth.
This is where I get murdered. I’m as foolish as Hansel and Gretel, and Jude is a blood-thirsty witch. This is not how I see my life ending. I’m too young. Too full of unfulfilled dreams. Too—shit! A chill raises the hairs on the back of my neck at the sound of a low growl. Fuck! What the hell is in this bed? Every episode of The Wandering Dead flashes in my mind’s eye and my breath catches with fear.
I scramble upright and reach for the bedside lamp. The space quickly illuminates, showcasing two big, sad eyes surrounded by a scruffy face. Not Jude. Not a monster. Walter. He whines and edges closer.
I press my hand to my chest and hold back the urge to laugh. My limbs relax under the comprehension that I was never in grave danger. “Aren’t you the master magician?” I scratch behind his ears and he nuzzles closer, shimmying up the bed with each tail wag. “Sneaking into my bed and scaring the crap right out of me.” Within minutes he’s made his way onto my lap. I’ve already forgiven him.
“Walter. Wal-ter,” Jude whispers from outside the
