“You want to continue our conversation?” He pushes on, regardless of my “go away” posture. Lays his hand casually on my bent knee, propping it up at the wrist and rests quite happily there.
“What conversation?” I ask, genuinely confused but stay concealed under my arm, my gut churning like I may not like this.
“You don’t remember?” The surprise in his voice makes me a little wary. I shake my head and the color rises in my cheeks; Jake never presses for no reason.
What the hell did I say to him last night?
“I put you to bed.”
Well, that explains why my cell was off.
He turns his off every night, whereas I normally don’t. Just in case I’m needed.
“Thanks.” I mumble. I want to ask him what I said, but I don’t, because I’m scared. I’m scared I might actually have told him something I di
