“Deal.”
“Both of our phones are on my side of the bed,”he points out. “Unless you’ve got your pager secreted away somewhere, you aren’t waking up first.”
“I promise, the pager is in my backpack and turned off. But if you want me to sleep with my phone under my pillow…”
He reaches for it, and our pinkies tug, but neither of us lets go. He passes it to me, and I check the alarm is set.
“Fair is fair,” I whisper as I tuck it under my head.
He squeezes my finger with his.
“Night, Roar,” he says.
And the urge to cross the small gap between us, to plant my mouth against his, is nearly overwhelming. Nostalgia and familiarity are potent traps.
It’s good that we’re only sleeping in this bed tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll safely be on opposite couches.
I swallow and make a silent pledge. I won’t kiss him. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I’m going to protect the fragile thing we’re building, brick by careful brick. “Good night.”
This time when I listen to his breathing even out, I don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s asleep. I know he’s not. I’m not alone in having heavy thoughts swirling.
But I can also feel his pulse, faint and steady, through our hooked fingers. I count the rhythm, and slowly, my pulse slows down to match his. My breathing, too, and finally, blissfully, my thoughts start to fragment in that pre-sleep way.
Kissing. Not kissing. Christmas vibes. Stern looks. Confusing looks. Finding Garrett through the chaos.
Tomorrowisgoing to be chaos.
It’ll be chaos with Garrett at the centre of it, though, and that’s something to look forward to.
Chapter 12
Rory
I wake up alone, sprawled in the middle of the bed. Garrett apparently got my phone out from under my pillow and silenced my alarm without me noticing.
Heart pounding, I roll back onto my own side and flop back against the pillows.
There’s a quiet knock at the door, then it swings open.
As soon as Garrett steps inside, the whole conversation from last night floods back to me.
“Hi,” I say, pushing myself up, feeling flushed and oddly out of sorts.
Friends. We’re going to really try to be friends here.
His gaze drops to my tank top for a second.
Do friends stare at each other’s tits? We need to do some work there. But I let him take my bra off, so…
He holds out a mug. “Good morning.”
“Thank you.” I take it and bring it to my mouth, inhaling the faint cinnamon that’s the hallmark of my dad’s Christmas Eve morning coffee. “Is everyone up?”
“Yep. Our alarms didn’t even go off. I woke up to your mom and Cassie arguing right outside your door.”
I wince. “Wow, I slept through that?”
“You were zonked. I would have let you sleep more, but pancakes and sausages are almost ready.”
