“I’m right here,” Carson reassures me again as he rubs his palm up and down my back.
I try to speak, but my throat feels raw from what I can only assume were screams in my sleep. Clearing my throat, I start to apologize, “I’m sor—” but Carson stops me.
“Please don’t apologize for something you have no reason to apologize for. You were having a nightmare. I’m just glad I was here.”
If only it were a nightmare—a mere figment of my imagination, fear conjured up by my subconscious—instead of a flashback from a very real moment I couldn’t wake up from. Instead of saying that to Carson, I move to sit up against the headboard.
“When I’ve had nightmares, it’s helped me to watch TV. Do you want to watch something together?”
I only hesitate a moment before nodding in agreement.
In an attempt to make me feel better, Carson smiles as he jokes, “We can Netflix and chill, but like, truly just chill. Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to use my smooth chest as a pillow. It’s pillowy soft. I get it waxed, and my mom got me this new lotion for Christmas that makes it feel like butter.”
Shaking my head, a small laugh slips out. I know his humor is his attempt at making me feel better, and I appreciate it now more than ever.
The TV above my dresser lights up before I hear the trademarkta-dumas the Netflix logo appears on the screen.
“Let’s see, we’ve both probably watched far too muchCocomelonthis week, so that’s out,” he says, waving the remote in the air as he scrolls through our options. I chuckle again at his theatrics. “Oh, I feel like this is something you’d like. We could try to watch an episode, it looks like each one is about an hour long. That should help take your mind off your bad dream.”
His attempts to ease my mind are endearing. But when I look at the screen and seeBridgertonqueued up, I laugh so hard that a very unattractive snort slips out. My cheeks flush as I cover my nose in disbelief that I just snorted in front of one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. “You can’t be serious,” I tell Carson.
He furrows his brow in confusion. “What’s wrong with this? I thought you’d love something set in nineteenth-century London.”
“I would. I mean, I do—the Regency era is one of my favorites.”
Carson cuts in, “It’s theReputationera. Not a personal fav of mine yet, just because she hasn’t released the Taylor’s version. I’m more of aSpeak Nowkind of guy, if I’m being honest.”
Is he seriously talking about Taylor Swift right now? In the few weeks we’ve lived together, I’ve learned Carson is a diehard Swiftie.
“What? I wasn’t talking about Taylor Swift’s eras, I was talking about the Regency era, which is whenBridgertontakes place—in nineteenth-century London.” I turn onto my side to look at him. “Do you know what this show is about?”
A cocky smirk spreads across his face. “Of course I do. It’s just likePride and Prejudice. A simple caress of a hand will make viewers melt.” He proceeds to dramatically fan himself with his hand.
Oh, I can’t wait to see his reaction.
“You know what? You’re right, I think the first episode would take my mind off of my nightmare.” My smile is devious and probably makes me look unhinged, but Carson just shrugs and presses play.
As the opening scene plays and the narrator begins to speak, I quickly realize watching this with Carson will be interesting, to say the least. I haven’t watched the show yet, but I’ve heard enough about it and read the series it’s based on.
“Oh, I love an English accent. I used to have my Siri settings be a British accent,” he informs me.
I side-eye him on his next line of commentary. “I can already tell Eloise is going to be my favorite. She’s feisty.”
Not a minute later, Carson straight up gasps at the scene unfolding in front of us where Anthony Bridgerton is in the throes of passion.
“What is he doing? Are they fucking? Against a tree?” He pauses the show, and the screen freezes on Lord Bridgerton’s bare ass as he fucks his mistress against a tree. Carson looks over at me, and I must be doing a terrible job of hiding my humor because he says, “Oh my god, Austin! You totally knew there would be full-on fucking in this, didn’t you? Have you watched this before?”
My last thread of constraint breaks when I see the perplexed look on his face. I cackle hysterically, so much so that my healing ribs become sore, and I have to hold onto my left side for support.
“Ouch, it hurts,” I say as I continue to laugh through the pinch of pain.
“You swindled me, didn’t you?” he questions but chuckles right along with me.
Once I get a grasp on my dignity, I breathe in through my nose and answer him. “I haven’t watched the show but I have read the books. It’s also rated TV-MA for a reason.”
“I thought you read the classics. I didn’t realize you dabbled in smut like my sister.”
His comment immediately puts me on edge as I wait for his ridicule to follow.
