“It’s okay,” I tell him immediately, rubbing his back. Thank God for how dark this room is. I’m being brave as hell tonight. “I like when you talk.”
Desmond laughs, the sound traveling directly from his chest to mine, the way we’re lying together. I don’t ever want to leave this damn bed.
“I wish that hadn’t happened to you, though,” I add softly, and somewhat awkwardly. I’ve never been good at having serious conversations. I always sound like an idiot.
“I know,” he agrees, and kisses my neck again. I close my eyes and lean into it, because, really, I don’t think I’ve ever felt something better. “We should probably try and go to sleep.”
“Yeah. Unless there was any other horribly sad things we could share,” I add, grinning when a laugh is huffed against my skin.
“Let’s limit that to one a night from now on,” he suggests, which sounds like an invitation to be here all nights, to me.
We’re doing this all wrong. Spending the night together, cuddling, me taking care of Parker without him there—all of it done before we’ve even kissed. But I don’t even need to askNate to know that he’d tell me it doesn’t matter. That we can do everything at our own pace, and there’s no rules about the order in the relationship ladder. He’d tell me not to worry. He’d tell me we don’t even have to kiss at all if we don’t want to.
“Wake me up or roll me off to the side if you need some space, okay? If you don’t, I’ll be on you all night,” Desmond tells me.
Him saying that as though it might be an unwelcome occurrence is pretty insane. I would like to have him on me all the time. Roll him off to the side? Jesus Christ, not in this lifetime.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” I reply, giving him the less crazy version of the thoughts in my head.
“Have a good sleep, Jacko.” His voice is muffled by the way he’s tucked his face into the crook of my neck, now that the conversation is over and the time for rest has arrived. It hurts my heart a little bit—how sweet of a gesture it is. I think again of his ex, and wonder what sort of person would ever complain aboutthis.
“You too,” I respond, keeping my eyes open to make sure sleep doesn’t come for me just yet.
I want to be awake when he drifts off. When his breathing evens, and all remaining tension bleeds from his limbs. I want to create so many new, warm, safe memories that I never have to think about the bad ones again.
A sharp spikeof fear wakes me up, heart pounding. I never slept—or woke up—well when I played for the team and we had overnight hotel stays. I’m a creature of habit, of safety,and waking up in a different place is always difficult. But unlike some of those mornings in the hotels, it takes me only seconds to remember where I am; to remember that the body next to me isn’t strange or scary or unwelcome.
Desmond is still asleep, thankfully not having been woken up by my jolt to consciousness. Closing my eyes again, I breathe myself back down as I take stock of our current position. He wasn’t kidding about him being on me all night.
I’d fallen asleep on my back, but must have rolled to the side at some point and tried to curl my knees up the way I usually sleep. Desmond, also on his side, has one leg between mine and his face pressed so hard to my neck it sounds like he’s struggling to breathe. He’s snuck one of his arms into the front of my shirt, skin hot against mine. We are so tangled together, there’s no possibility of movement without bringing him with me.
Eyes still closed, I smile. I’m a little bit too warm, and I sort of have to pee. Desmond’s hair is tickling my chin, and every couple of breaths he snores a bit—a cute little snort that makes my chest feel oddly tight. This whole situation makes me feel like there’s a hand pressing hard against my heart making it difficult to breathe. If this is how Marcos makes Nate feel all the time, it’s no wonder he can’t think or talk about anything else.
After years of living in a home where I needed to be aware of my surroundings at all times, I have impeccable hearing. There’s a soft noise filtering under Desmond’s bedroom door, like Parker is moving around but trying to be quiet about it. I listen, hearing the water turn on, and realize he probably just woke up to go to the bathroom. I can’t see the time—nor can I move and grab my phone to check—but the light peeking around Desmond’s blinds isdim enough to make me think the sun is only just starting to rise.
After a few moments, it’s silent once more. Assuming Parker crawled back into bed, I close my eyes and burrow back into my own personal heaven. Desmond snuffles a bit, another little snort coming out. I’m going to die, with how fucking cute that is.
I somehow drift off back to sleep, and only surface again when Desmond’s arm—still shoved up inside my shirt—moves in a way that feels too purposeful to be sleepy. My body temperature, which was already a little high, rises even more. Apparently, it’s time for the “embarrassed for no reason” part of the morning routine. How lucky for Desmond that my red face is going to be the first thing he sees. I’m going to scare the shit out of him.
Turning his face to the side, likely in an effort to obtain the fresh air that wasn’t available that close to my neck, he tries to bring his hand to his face. When he realizes that hand is caught in my shirt, he huffs a croaky laugh.
“Crawled into your shirt,” he mumbles, voice gravelly. He doesn’t pull his arm out, though, and I have no intention of asking him to.
“Morning,” I reply, so happy in this moment that my voice is practically thrumming with it. The state of my bladder is becoming serious at this point, but I’d sooner let it explode than ask him to move.
Sliding the hand in my shirt around me so he can rest it flat on my back, he strokes gently with his thumb. My skin flushes with heat as though he did it with his tongue. Nobody has ever touched me like this. It feels so affectionate—a mindless reach toward your person for no other reason than you wish for contact. If anyone else touched me like this, I’mpretty sure I’d worry about why they were doing it and what they wanted from me.
But Desmond feels safe and every single interaction we’ve had has proven him so. I’m not someone who usually trusts in their gut feelings, but in this case, I know I’m right. I could never have slept here like this if that feeling of security felt false in any way.
“Jesus, I slept good,” he says, nose tickling my neck as he nuzzles closer.
“So did I, actually,” I agree. He laughs softly, hearing and understanding the sheer amount of surprise in that sentence. “You weren’t kidding about the snuggling.”
“Told you, Jacko. And not to make this weird, but you’ve got the perfect body for it.”
Startled, I laugh, the sound disproportionately loud in the quiet room.
“The perfect body for snuggling?” I clarify. “What does that mean?”
