His Cocky Cellist (Undue Arrogance Book 2) by Cole McCade

Author:Cole McCade [McCade, Cole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

VIC WOKE BEFORE HIS ALARM as always, deep in the hours of predawn, yet this time not for the usual reasons. Not because the ongoing to-do list in the back of his mind had ticked over another task item and just couldn’t wait for him to wake up to acknowledge it. Not because he’d woken from another formless nightmare involving something to do with that Board room and crumbling tiles slipping through his fingers. Not even because he’d never slept at all, spending a restless night reviewing revenue reports over coffee, as he frequently did when sleep eluded him.

No…he woke this morning because of the warm weight resting against him, unfamiliar and strange and so very wonderful that he couldn’t sleep another minute when he could be awake to experience this.

He’d thought Amani would be a restless sleeper—but instead he was still and quiet and peaceful, his features relaxed, that hint of wary aloofness gone to leave only calm and sweetly parted lips sighing on sleeping breaths. His hair tangled everywhere, still twined through with silver chains, making a river of night crossed by shooting stars, spreading and coiling across the sheets and pillows and Vic himself. He’d somehow managed to drape himself half on, half off of Vic, cheek pillowed on his chest and arms wrapped around him, hugging him like he was some kind of human teddy bear.

He was smaller, somehow, in his sleep—but it didn’t make him lesser. Not when he was still so beautiful, unearthly, as if any moment he’d be gone, wisping away back to whatever ethereal plane let him slip into the mortal world for a few whirlwind moments. How someone so tiny could be such a dervish was beyond Vic…but he’d left Vic tossed and torn, at once quiet inside with a newfound peace and chaotic all around the edges of the hole where his old self had been.

Or at least…his ideas of his old self, if he was honest. Everything he’d tried to make of himself was an idea, laid in a mask over who he really was so no one could see him and he didn’t have to see himself. He was the same person he’d always been, but…

Maybe, just maybe, he could see himself more clearly now.

And maybe, just maybe, if this warm feeling in his chest was any indication…

That wouldn’t be so bad.

He wasn’t quite sure how to process this, right now—not when everything felt changed, the world a photo frame that had been off-kilter for twenty-four years only to finally be set right. It would take time and exploration and experimentation to know what would change, moving forward. What he wanted with his life, if he was really going to keep putting on that mask every day and doing the same thing again and again and again. He didn’t know, yet. He just didn’t, and he needed time to try to think clearly once the euphoria wore off.

The only thing he did know for certain was that

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