“It doesn’t, and that’s why he doesn’t like me.”
He kisses my head.
He does.
He kisses my head.
I’m not imagining that. It’s not the tequila. It’s not a dream.
My pretend fiancé is taking care of me.
“Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”
I don’t want to sleep.
Sleep is where the bad dreams come.
“You’re safe here,” he repeats.
He releases his hold, and chilly air envelops me.
I shiver.
“I don’t—I don’t want to be alone.”
The words linger in the air while I wince.
I’ve taught myself to be strong. I’ve taught myself to be independent.
And I just don’t fucking want to be tonight.
But I also don’t want to have just said that.
It’s too dim to read his expression, but after a moment’s pause, he leans over, off the side of the bed.
There’s athump, then a second one, and then he straightens just long enough to release his hair from its bun before stretching out on the bed.
Peggy stares at him.
I got her after my last breakup, so she’s never slept with a man in her bed.
And it’s been well over two years since I’ve slept with a man in my bed either.
He’s not a man, I tell myself.He’s a friend.
Liar, my nipples reply.
“I’ll stay on this side,” I stutter. “I just—I’m normally—I’m always—I don’t usually need to not be alone. Today’s…different.”
He looks at me.
I suppress a sigh and settle back under the covers, huddling closer to the opposite side of the bed than I was when I had it all to myself.
Shouldn’t have expected an answer just because he talked more while he was cooking for me and giving me free rein with his tequila.
Peggy steps off me, standing between us, and she purrs.
Then purrs louder.
