But this can’t be. It wasn’t the plan.
But with Fletch, I feel safe, seen, and cared about.
“We should get some sleep,” I say, breaking the moment before I can do something foolish like tell him what I’m thinking or press my palm softly to his jaw or bring my lips to his. “Long drive back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he replies, voice husky.
Does he feel it too?
Fletch lengthens as best he can on the undersized couch, pressing himself into the back and inviting me closer—I take it Coach Badaszek doesn’t overnight here or has a blow-up mattress we didn’t find earlier.
I sit on the edge, physically frozen by my thoughts about the sleeping arrangements with my husband and getting chillier by the moment. “But we don’t have our pillow barrier.”
“I don’t bite.”
“Yes, but—” I splutter.
“We’re married, Bree. Plus, it’s only going to get colder. We need each other for warmth.”
I trip over the words,We need each other.
I’m strong, independent. I don’t need anything or anyone. Well, except for my friends, readers, and editor. She’s indispensable.
Also chocolate.
But I can’t bring myself to get closer to him. It’s too big a risk because then what? It’ll shatter everything I’ve told myself about this particular man and the plan I had for my life—following the muse and writing realityinto fiction.
But what if it all led me to him?
At that thought, I cannot bring myself to do anything other than slide onto the floor like a slushy, melting puddle.
Gripping me under the arms, Fletch easily drags me back up. “Sugar Plum, you’re not sleeping down there. You’ll freeze.”
“You’re just saying that for selfish reasons. You don’t want to be cold,” I counter, even though that’s the biggest pile of yellow snow I’ve ever heard myself say out loud.
He chuckles. “There are spiders down there.”
“Not afraid of them.”
He clears his throat. “I am. They’re nightmare fuel.”
I gasp.
He shrugs. “Fine, I admit it. I need you to protect meandkeep me warm.”
“You’re a human furnace. Hot to the touch.”
Fletch’s eyebrows bob. “Hot, huh?”
“Don’t try to flirt your way out of this one, mister.” I poke him in the chest and I practically sprain my finger on his firm pectorals.
He tips his head back with laughter.
“I can’t sleep up here with you. There’s nothing between us.”
“On the contrary, I think there is most definitely something between us, whether you want to admit it or not.”
My thoughts flurry, but I’m no longer cold. Not at all.
