“Just the ones I can see,” he says, raking a slow gaze down my face, towards my collarbone, down past where the collar of my shirt starts.
“If you let go of my hands, I could show you some more.”
Cole nods like a man possessed and releases my hands with widened eyes.
I take my chance. “Sucker!” I yell before going straight for his armpits. He clamps down my fingers and we flip over on the mattress. With an oomph, I fall on his chest.
Inches from the one thing I haven’t stopped thinking about in days—his lips.
“I should have known you’d be a dirty player,” Cole says, his breath ragged and his chest heaving. “Exploiting a man’s interest in your freckles for personal gain. That’s low even for you.”
I blush, because I’ve always been self-conscience about my freckles. Dillon used to comment when I’d plaster on coverup how much better I looked without them, and well, I guess I just took everything he said as gospel for way too long.
“What’s that blush for, sugarplum?” Cole asks, his thumb once again softly grazing my cheek.
“You,” I say. Because it’s more than the freckles, it’s how he’s looking at me too. Everything I think I’m feeling—all the intense sensations, the need to be closer to him at all times, even when we’re touching. They’re all mirrored in Cole’s stare, and it’s unfair to him for me to move forward without fully understanding my own feelings. “What happens when you leave?”
“Whatever you want,” he whispers.
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
“Then it’s a good thing we have a week to figure it out.” He smiles, like he knows how this ends already, like he wrote the book and I’m the one reading it—and he can’t wait until I get to the happy ending.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
COLE
It’s still darkwhen my eyes blink open. For a second, I forget where I am—then the faint smell of pine, the low glow of Christmas lights strung on a new “top of the line” fake Christmas tree, and the weight of Natalie’s body next to mine pulls me back. Natalie’s house. Christmas morning.
The air mattress beneath us lost half its air overnight, sagging just enough to press her a little closer against me. Her head is in the crook of my arm. Her hand rests on my chest, warm and comforting. I drift off again, enjoying her touch. I don’t care what she says about the weighted blanket being the best. This right here, with her, would beat it every time.
Suddenly, the weight slips and her touch fades away.
“Stay,” I mumble and catch her hand.
She laughs softly. “You were asleep. How did you even know I was leaving?”
“I can feel when you leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“I get cold.” I pull her back to me. “So stay. Please.”
Her hair shifts against my jaw as she laughs again. I like interacting with this version of her—the one who’s half amused, half caught off guard by me.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have things I need to do.”
“Like what? It’s not even six. You need sleep.”
She wiggles in my hold, but I only tighten it. “What I need to do,” she says, “is make you a present, because I have nothing to give you and I feel terrible since you got me the best present ever.”
“That was your birthday present,” I mumble into her hair. “I didn’t get you much for Christmas.”
“But see, you got me something,” she says. “How am I going to look if I have nothing to give you in return?”
I can’t help but smile against the warmth of her temple. God, she’s cute when she spirals. “Tell your parents your present doesn’t fit under a tree,” I whisper, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair as I nuzzle closer. “Or maybe Christmas is a little bit more, or however that Grinch line goes. You can be my present.”
