“Not yet.” I couldn’t stand the idea of him letting go. I tried not to sound too desperate. “Stay. Watch a movie with me.”
He leaned back to study my face as he considered the proposal. His lips turned up in a micro-smile, and he did that huff-chuckle thing.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just—I can’t believe I didn’t scare you away.” His hands loosened off my back, putting a little more space between us. “I don’t deserve that.”
Pat had gotten a lot of things he didn’t deserve. My affection wasn’t one of them. “Well, believe it, Buster.” I squeezed his bicep playfully. “I want to watchStar Wars. Are you coming in?”
“Alright.”
I floated into the apartment, chattering and geeking out about why we were going to watch episode IV first. Pat was listening, nodding, and watching my every move. The attention made me self-conscious in a good way. The guys at the bar I had the bad habit of visiting made me feel desirable, I guess. But that never ended well. They were only looking to take from me. Pat was different. He wanted to treasure me.
The thought made my knees go weak, and I leaned against the counter for a moment.
Pat wants to treasure me.
Fear and excitement ran through my veins as I let the truth wash over my heart. I could see his intention in the way his gaze caressed my form. It wasn’t lust in his eyes.
I turned back to the stove to hide my heated face. Shook the popcorn pot to look busy. Pat was all chatted out. He was happy to listen to me gabbing on, without adding so much as a word of input. When I ran out of things to say, silence settled between us. I, a true hater of silence, didn’t even mind. With Pat there was never pressure to keep constant momentum.
We nestled onto the couch, popcorn and waters in hand. I read the iconic pre-movie explanation out loud and informed him, although I’m not sure why, thateveryepisode started with a starship. Honestly, I don’t think he was interested. He was humoring me, delighting in my delight. A few times, when I glanced over at him, he looked away. He was more interested in me than the plans for the Death Star. Nothing I’d ever complain about.
We finished off the popcorn by the time Luke was whining to Obi-wan. Pat’s hand came to his chest, and he took a sharp breath. The slouched position must’ve been causing him to hurt. I jumped up and ran to my bed, grabbing a few of my firm pillows.
“Lean forward,” I commanded.
He obeyed when he saw the pillows and registered my intentions.
I stuffed a couple behind his back, and he looked a lot more comfortable. He stuck his feet out onto the ottoman and so did I. One of Pat’s strong arms came around my back and pulled me into his side. My cheek rested on his shoulder, and he settled his chin onto the top of my head. He tickled my arm across his chest.
The movie faded to the background of my mind. His fingers gliding over my arm took the forefront. I relived the kiss over and over, goosebumps popping up now and then at the memory.
After a while, Pat’s hand rested over my own, his breathing deepened. Was he sleeping?
I tilted my head to look up at him. His eyes were closed, and mouth was slightly parted. He’d had such a long day. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to stay. I glanced at the clock. It was after 11:00 p.m. I should wake him so he could go home and get some rest. But the thought of him leaving and me being forced to retreat to my cold bed, to face all the horrors of the night, was more than I could bear. Instead of waking him, I grabbed the remote to flip off the TV then ever-so-slowly fluffed a pillow behind my back. I skootched in closer, returning my head to his shoulder and throwing my arm over his torso once again.
I wanted to listen to the sound of his heart beating. Just for a few minutes.
THIRTY-THREE
Patrick
Light pricked through my closed eyes. I usually hopped out of bed, ready to be finished with the tossing and turning of the night, but something was different this morning. I was warm. Comfortable. Come to think of it, I’d slept like a baby. Don’t remember the last time that happened.
As I was conjuring up the willpower to open my eyes, I felt movement across my chest. My eyes flew open, and I was surprised to find Jules pressed against me. I must’ve fallen asleep during the movie last night. My heart kicked against my ribcage as I took in the view. We had slid off the pillows and were mostly lying on the gigantic ottoman. I was turned onto my side, and she was curled into me, fitting like a puzzle piece. Her arms were tucked between our bellies, and one of her legs was tossed over mine. My arm was draped over her hips.
Wrinkles adorned her blue dress. Sleep scars adorned her face. Few strands of hair remained in her bun, and her mouth was slightly ajar. Those pink lips looked as inviting as ever. She was—to use a term she uses—a hot mess. If that means downright sexy yet looking disheveled, then it was definitely the right term.
I squeezed her closer to me, and smelled the top of her head, relishing in the vanilla scent that made my heart lurch. She was out cold, totally limp. I laid there for a long while, drinking in the sight of her. I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her hair. She never stirred. She slept like the dead indeed.
This right here is what I’d been missing in my life. Having someone to hold at night. Togetherness. Someone’s arms to call home. The kiss from the night before played out in my head half a dozen times. She had kissed me back. Met me move for move. Even demanded more. She must’ve been feeling all the same things I was. The thought was heady, and I wanted to lay here, nestled together, forever.
Except her head on my bicep had caused my entire arm to lose every ounce of feeling, and my stomach was growling. What time was it? I scanned the walls for a clock. Ah, the DVD player on the entertainment center. 9:02 a.m.
