Free Reckless (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 1) by Jessi Gage Page A

mind. You’ve got to get to work.” Why else would he be getting up so early after less than four hours of sleep? “Look, I don’t know why, but I always show up here in your room after dark. And I always stay until five or so. And you can only see or hear me when I’m on the bed. I can’t even open doors or move things or pick up a stupid sock. Crazy, I know. But there it is. So, I’ll go now—” She couldn’t make an exit until the fog claimed her, but she could climb out of his bed and at least become invisible to him, give the guy a chance to reboot. “I’ll be back tonight, though. Probably.” She hoped. “Maybe we can talk then?”
    Good grief, she sounded desperate. She was desperate —for company, for Derek’s affection, to understand what was happening to them and why—but she didn’t want to come across as burdensome.
    “Only if you want,” she added.
    His expression never changed. His eyes were still wide, his eyebrows still drawn together. The firm lips she’d nibbled and kissed earlier made a stony line.
    She’d messed up big time. She was supposed to be his comfort, and here she’d upset him.
    Way to let your own agenda override good sense, DG.
    “I’m sorry,” she muttered. Before she could make things any worse, she slipped off the opposite side of the bed.
    With her heart shrinking into an embarrassed prune, she watched his eyes search the rumpled covers. He wiped his hand down his face again. “Too much fucking bourbon.” He grabbed some clothes out of the dresser, left the room, and pulled the door closed behind him, barring her from following.
    “That went well,” she said to the empty room.
                 
    * * * *
     
    The sun wasn’t up yet, but morning twilight lit the sky with a mellow blue. Humidity rested heavy against Derek’s skin as he walked to Brick and Mortar to retrieve his truck. Today would be a scorcher.
    He gripped his Thermos in one hand and the insulated lunch bag Haley had given him for Father’s Day in the other. Amazingly, his head was clear despite the glasses of bourbon he’d sipped one after another last night, and despite a craptastic night of bad dreams and too little sleep.
    Okay, the night hadn’t been all craptastic. He’d gotten to see his dream girl again. He’d gotten to hold and kiss her and come in her hands like an overeager kid. None of it had been real, of course—except the coming; he’d noticed the tissues on the floor in the morning and marveled that he’d been able to clean himself up in his sleep. But even if his dream girl hadn’t been real, dreaming about her had saved the night for him.
    I don’t think you’re a bad person, she’d said. She believed in him. It was the only thing keeping him from beating himself up over upsetting Haley. And drinking too much.
    Which was crazy. Literally crazy.
    She’s not even real.
    His subconscious was obviously trying to deal with the car crash nightmares by overreacting with too much fantasy. Getting off in a dream about his dream woman was one thing, but imagining her in his bed even after his alarm had gone off, frigging talking with her—that was padded-room shit.
    Unless she wasn’t imaginary.
    Haley had seen something in his room. No, not something. Someone.
    Someone with red hair, darker than Rebecca’s. Someone she thought had been watching over him.
    A few years ago, he might have believed his little girl had made it up. But now? She was eleven going on socially-responsible seventeen. When they got serious, they talked about things like recycling and overpopulation in India and baking muffins with Deidre to take to the nursing home. She was a caring girl with a big heart and an outlook on life a few years ahead of her age group. Haley had better things to talk about than imaginary stuff.
    Maybe he had more to apologize to Haley for than yelling at Deidre.
    Shit. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this.
    He rounded the corner of Graham. Eight