Winston holds out his hand like he wants to help, and a laugh rips through me. “Seriously?” I say, giving him the phone. “You’re going to provide tech support? Didn’t you refer to my AirPods as ear sticks?”
He takes the phone and, without even looking at it, puts it face down on my nightstand. “I did, because ear sticks is a much better name, and no, I don’t plan on fiddling with your phone applications.”
“Then…”
He smiles, and it leaves me breathless. The dimple returns. “I will be your alarm.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t plan on spending my nights anywhere else, Natalie, and if I’m here, I can wake you up whenever you want. Just tell me what time.”
“Winston, really, you don’t hav–”
He makes an exasperated sound. “I want to.”
Winston waking me up with a kiss sure does sound nice. Or a cuddle, or…other things. And I believe him when he says he wants to, but how long will that last? How long willwelast? I don’t want to ruin this moment we’re having with The Talk, but deliberately not having it seems dumber than the return of flared jeans, so I swallow my fear and ask, “Should we maybe, I don’t know, discuss what we are?”
“What we are?” he repeats the question, confused at first. His eyes widen a moment later in understanding. “You mean, to each other?”
“Yeah, I don’t want to rush things, but I want us to be on the same page.”
He nods, his gaze unfocused on the comforter as he thinks about this. My heart beats louder with each second that passes. Why is he taking so long to answer me?
“Well,” he says, after what feels like ten minutes, but is likely about ten seconds. He scrubs a hand down his face, and I catch a flash of sadness in his eyes, I think, quickly replaced by an inscrutable expression making my stomach twist. “It’s not really up to me, is it?”
That’s definitely not what I wanted to hear. “What do you mean?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, as if trying to find the right words. “I mean,” he begins, then pauses. “I’m happy with the way things are, and admittedly, I know very little about how romantic couplings are labeled these days. I will defer to you, Natalie.”
Ugh, why does he have to talk in code? Can’t he just tell me how he feels? Granted, societal expectations regarding dating have changed since 1901, so I get it, but I’d rather hear his old-timey evaluation of what we are than figure it out all by myself. This is a two-way street, and he just pushed me into the middle of it, straddling the dividing line.
Maybe he’s nervous to open himself up again, after how horrible things were with Susanna. Rest in peace, and all that, but thinking about how cruel she was to him makes me want to summon her spirit, grab her by the shoulders and scream,Are you kidding me? Did you not see the wonderful man you had?in her face.
He’s not the only one afraid to get romantically involved again, though. I’m freaked out too. These feelings that I have for Winston––I wasn’t expecting them. I wasn’t expectinghim. When he kisses my forehead, or pushes my hair behind my ear, or pulls me closer when our bodies are already flush from head to toe, I get these little painful pangs in my chest. They aren’t unpleasant by any means. I’m not entirely sure what they are. All I know is that they make me want more of him. Of us. But whenever I feel them, I’m reminded of my limited time here.
This isn’t my house, and Lindsay will want me out of here at some point. For that reason, I need to keep my head above water and not lean into those painful pangs. I can’t let whatever this is go beyond casual sex. Maybe it already has, but even so, it can’t go any further. We need to be smart about this.
“Okay,” I finally say, “then let’s keep things how they are. Fun. Casual.”
His expression sours on the last word, but when I lean in for a kiss, his lips are just as hungry and intense as always. It doesn’t take long for us to become breathless and start pawing at each other.
“Come here.” Winston says with a chuckle as he removes my hands from his pants and maneuvers behind me, pulling me gently between his legs. His back is against the headboard, and he starts running his fingers through my hair. It feels so good, a sigh tumbles from my lips as I press my scalp deeper into his hands. At some point, he goes from brushing my hair to twisting it in a way that has me suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Braiding your hair.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Why?”
He clears his throat, voice confident as he replies, “Because I’m spectacular at it.”
“Do I want to know how you developed this skill?”
“I used to braid my sister’s hair all the time.”
“You had a sister?” I ask, ashamed that this is the first time I’m hearing about a sibling of his.
“Yes.” In only one word, I can tell the mood has shifted. “She was the best person I’ve ever known. The only one in my family I liked being around.”
