I look up at the ceiling, smiling as the memory rushes in. “Okay,” I say, launching into the story.
I haven’t closed an eye all night, which is both not Rafael’s fault and one hundred percent because of him. How could I sleep when there was this entire book he annotated for me? So when Sherlock admonished us for the second time and we decided to go to sleep, I waited for his breathing to become deep and even, then grabbed the book and read the whole thing.
I setThe Love Alibion my chest, looking over at him.
Turns out, the key to my heart is book annotations, because the son of a bitch has won me over. I mean, how could he not have?
I open the book to a random page and read: “See how he can’t help but notice all the minor details about her, even the ones she doesn’t think matter? I keep cataloging all the little things you do—like the way your eyes light up when you read a book you enjoy. It’s my favorite thing to watch.”
Biting my lip, I turn the page. I almost feel the need to annotate his annotations. Write little thoughts about his little thoughts, because they’re a window into his soul. He wrote: “You do this, too. You fidget with your sleeves. Is it because I make you nervous, Freckles?”
Always so flirty.
“Hold the fuck up. Is this a thing? If men who cook are sexy, how about men who always pay for takeout?”
I bite my lip and flip again: “Nah. Unless the plot twist here is that he’s from another planet, there’s no way his junk can be compared to a soda can.”
And then the bit about the main character seeing his love interest and feeling this sense of peace he’s never experienced before. This longing and deep sense of satisfaction at the same time. He highlighted the whole thing and wrote, “Couldn’t have said it better.”
I could read every single annotation a million times over.
Sherlock, at my feet, begins stirring. I check the time on my phone, then meet his gaze. “Don’t,” I whisper, but he steps forward regardless. “Sherlock, donot.”
“Rooo.”
Fuck!I set the book on the floor as he steps even closer, knowing that no matter how much of a deep sleeper Rafael is, Sherlockwillwake him up.
“Rooo!”
Rafael moves, still half asleep, and I close my eyes, settling against the pillow.
“Roooooo!”
I feel Rafael move again, and this time, he clears his throat. “Shh. Just five more minutes.”
“Rooo.”
“Come on, Sherlock. Let her sleep.”
“Rooo!”
“Shh. Goddamn it. Where’s your food?”
I smile into the pillow, then turn to the side, eyes half closed as if he just woke me up, too. “I can go,” I murmur.
“No, no. Stay in bed.” His hand brushes my hair away from my face. “Come on, Sherlock.”
“Kitchen cabinet,” I call out as I feel the mattress dip beneath me. The familiar patter of Sherlock’s paws on the wooden floor follows, and then Rafael’s muffled voice from the kitchen. I can’t catch the words, but the tone sounds like they’re having a full conversation. It‘ssocute.
Damn cat. I almost got caught because of him.
Moments later, I hear footsteps returning. Rafael climbs back into bed, his body shifting the mattress as he settles in behind me. “Does he always get hungry at five a.m.?”
“Afraid so.”
“Hmm.” He’s so close to me, I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. “Did you like the book?”
My eyes bulge out. “Wh-what?”
