For one wild second, I imagine turning in his arms. Kissing him awake. Letting the whole thing spiral into somethingreal.
But I shove the thought down—hard.
He’s gay. Not into me.
I close my eyes again and try to ignore the way my skin is buzzing.
Get it together, Hart.
You don’t get to want this. You don’t get to imagine what it would feel like if he kissed you awake and whispered your name like it meant something.
This is fake.
And this—whateverthisis—is just a sleepy accident.
8
ASH
Like a Christmas Tree
Iwake up slowly.
Disoriented, warm, heavy in a way that feels less like sleep and more like I’ve been anchored.
It takes me a second to realize where I am.
Couch. Dim morning light filtering through the curtains. The faint scent of shampoo that doesn’t belong to me.
And then—
Her.
Olive.
Soft and still in my arms, breathing slow and steady, her head tucked beneath my chin. One of her legs is tangled with mine. Her hand rests on my chest, fingers curled just slightly in the fabric of my shirt like she held on all night.
And I’m hard.
Of course I am.
Because she’s warm and sweet and curled up against me and not mine. And my body is a traitor with zero regard for boundaries.
I try not to move.
She shifts, just barely—and yeah, she’s awake. Shedefinitelyfeels it.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and try to focus on anything else.
Last night.
The nightmare. The memory I’ve tried to shove into the back of my brain for two years like it couldn’t still cut me open.
And then Olive—sitting with me. Quiet. Solid. Real.
She held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Let me lie down with her like I deserved comfort.
