It shouldn't feel so safe, but it does. I fall asleep and have the best sleep I've had in years despite getting only a few hours of it.
When I wake up, I'm momentarily disoriented.
The first thing I catch is the red lights, much lighter in the daylight, the pointy roof that doesn't look anything like my tent, and then Ben's raven hair on my chest, tickling my jaw.
His huge arm is draped across my waist like he wants to make sure I don't sneak away while he sleeps.
He breathes steadily, his lips parted, peaceful, innocent.
If I didn't know better.
Shit. We kissed.
No—what happened last night wasn't a kiss, but a manifesto written all over my skin, and he's sleeping on his signature.
The marks have turned dark red during those few hours, and I start counting them. One, two, three... six. Plus more he sleeps on, I'm sure.
We didn't have sex but I don't deserve a gold star because I wanted to, and I have no idea how I'm going to cover all this.
Reality hits hard, all at once, guilt knotting in my stomach.
My hands go clammy when Richard's face appears in my mind, his blue eyes smiling at me.
My husband who, despite our cracks, let me come here alone, trusting me, and I broke every vow I gave him. For one night—even if it felt like a lifetime.
What now?
"Your heart's racing," Ben mumbles against my ribcage, voice husky with sleep. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I manage, stiff as the poles holding up the tent. "Fine."
"Bullshit." His eyes peel open and he props himself up on one elbow, finding me. "I know what regret looks like on you, Emma. Talk to me."
I swallow hard, eyes on my fidgeting hands, and mutter, "What have I done?"
He pauses. Then his jaw tightens as irritation hardens his voice. "You seemed pretty lucid by the time we got to the tent."
"That's not what I meant," I snap, drag myself upright and he sits up too.
I clutch the blanket over my body like it's not the same body he held hours ago, and gesture at the bed, at him, at me. "What does this mean?"
His face hardens, a cold front incoming. He stares at me for a beat before he says, "What do you think it means?"
I don't know, it just happened, and I'm shook and can't believe it did, and as intoxicating as it was, we live separate lives.
So I say the only thing that I should: "Like I said, it was just one kiss. Just friends doing a stupid thing, right?"
He blinks like I slapped him. Then pulls away, physically and emotionally, in one move. "Right."
The bed groans as he gets up and stands by the edge.
"We're both married," I push, reminding myself more than him.
"Don't." His voice cracks, raw enough to make me pause.
I frown. "Don't what?"
"Make it a lesson," he snaps. "Don't talk like you hated it."
