“Good morning,” he says.
This morning he’s wearing a heather gray shirt that just says hockey and it makes me smile. It’s something a non-fan would wear to their first sporting event, yet, he’s a professional wearing it. He’s also in a pair of athletic shorts.
“Good morning.” I see his leg dangling off the counter and say, “Shouldn’t you be elevating that?”
“Probably.”
“Let me guess though, this is where you like drinking your coffee?”
He shrugs. “I like routine.”
“Understandable.” I pour myself a cup and mix some creamer into it before turning toward him. “How did you get ready without waking me up?”
“Don’t know, honestly. I even tipped over into the dresser, crashing to the floor, and you didn’t even move.”
“Oh my God, you did?” I set my coffee down. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
He smiles. “Just kidding. I kept my balance the whole time.”
My eyes narrow at him, and I swat at his good leg, causing him to chuckle. “Don’t do that.”
“Just teasing, I could have gone further with it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, bringing my coffee to my lips.
“Back in high school, Holden rolled his ankle and it wasn’t too bad, but our mom was freaked out because it was a few weeks before a big showcase. She was worried he wouldn’t be able to play. To be a dick, he pretended he fell down the stairs. He lay splayed across the floor at the base of the staircase while I ran down the stairs, hitting the walls, making the sound effects while he groaned with every slap to the wall. I hid in the hall closet while my mom came rushing in to see him bent and crooked at the base of the stairs, his crutches flung across the carpet.”
“Oh my God,” I say slowly. “Halsey Holmes, that’s terrible.”
“Yeah, it was.” He smiles to himself. “But fuck did we laugh so hard about it, even when we were grounded in our room. We could not stop laughing.”
I point my finger at him and say, “Don’t you dare do anything like that to me, got it?”
“I would never. You scare me more than my mom.”
“Good, keep it that way.”
I take a large sip of my coffee and tilt my head back. “I don’t think I’ve slept that deep in a long time. Here I am supposedto be taking care of you and instead, I’m out cold, hopefully not snoring . . .”
“There was no snoring.”
“Thank God. Anyway, that was some deep sleep.”
“Were you really tired?”
I shrug. “Probably, but also . . .” I pause, not sure I want to divulge the real reason.
“Also what?” he asks.
And just look at him, those eyes of his, intent on mine, ready to listen. The way he holds his mug—wrapping his fingers around the whole thing—and how the fabric of his shirt so effortlessly clings to his biceps. He really is a dreamy man.
Maybe that’s why I find myself telling him the truth.
“I always sleep better with someone next to me. Kenzie and I shared a bed in college, especially when we were going through difficult times. And when I was with Perry, we obviously shared a bed. It’s been a little tough since we broke up that I think I found comfort in being next to you last night.” I wince.Stop talking, B. He does not want to hear about you sleeping with Perry.“Hopefully that doesn’t sound weird. Or clingy.”
“It doesn’t,” he says. “It actually makes me feel good, that I could provide you comfort. I know what it’s like to lose someone important in your life, and finding comfort during those times of unease and uncertainty is what matters.”
“Thank you. And I know you’re probably ready to kick me out of the bed so I can find something today and have it delivered.”
