Half an hour later, I watched him eat a sandwich with that drunken kind of glee and wonder.
“This is so good! What did you put in it?”
“Ham and mustard with tomato and lettuce.” I scarfed down my own sandwich.
“Ooh, I like the mustard a lot!” He hiccupped, then took a long pull of the water bottle I’d handed him with the sandwich.
He was such a lightweight, and I really liked that for some reason. I had a feeling he didn’t drink much, and I was the same after everything I’d gone through before I landed at Twin Star, so it was nice to feel I didn’t have to think about that. I’d tried dating this woman about a decade ago and she’d hidden her drinking problem from me because I’d been open about having fallen into the bottle a bit too much in my youth, and after that, I’d decided never again.
Once Lake had eaten and drank the water, I looked at him from head to toe. “Did you shower after doing the horsey stuff?”
“Yeah, I tried to relax but it didn’t work,” he replied in a whiney tone.
“Well it means you can go to bed while I shower. But go take a leak first,” I told him, then hovered when he stumbled toward the back of the cabin.
I stood at the bottom of the ladder-like stairs and tried to not stare at his ass while he climbed. It was a great ass, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t the time for that sort of thing.
“Go to bed, I’ll be right there.”
He mumbled something that I hoped was a drunken affirmative.
I took a quick shower, put on boxer shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed another bottle of water and after some thought, a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. I made sure Bucky was fine, too, turned off the lights, and went up the stairs.
To my surprise, Lake wasn’t asleep yet. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of my bed, seeming worried.
“What’s up?” I asked for the second time that night.
“I just…do you really want me to sleep over?” he asked, looking so small and hesitant it hurt to see it.
“Yes, of course. When have I told you something that wasn’t true?” I put the pills and the water on the bedside table. “Those are for you for when you need them.”
He blinked up at me, and for a moment I was afraid he’d start to cry. Then he steeled himself and nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Now, which side?” I asked.
It took him a moment to realize what I was asking. My bed was pushed against the wall to make the king-size monstrosity fit in the small space. The placement meant that the right side of the bed was right under the sloped roof, which made the bed feel smaller, and that in turn basically defeated the whole idea of having that large of a bed there anyway.
“I don’t have a perf-preference,” he stumbled over the word.
“All right. I’d tell you to go to the lower side, but I want you to be able to get the stuff off the bedside table, so I’ll deal with it.”
Again, he gazed at me with awe as I crawled into bed. I burrowed under the covers and watched as he hesitantly got to his feet and pushed off his jeans. Then he took off his long-sleeved T-shirt and his hands hovered in front of his chest as if he was uncomfortable showing that much skin.
“If you want, I can go get you a T-shirt from downstairs,” I said quietly so he wouldn’t…I didn’t even know. I just didn’t want him upset.
“N-no, it’s fine.” He climbed under the covers with me and I gave him the second pillow.
It took him a while to relax, and I wanted to pull him closer to maybe give him—and myself, if I was honest—the comfort that only contact with another person could bring.
Instead, I listened to him breathe and thought he’d started to doze off, when he asked in a very quiet voice, an almost-whisper, “You said something about a cuddle?”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” I whispered back. Then I lifted the covers so he could get closer.
I could see his eyes in the moonlight that came through the small window above the bed. He was tipsy, and wobbly, and he was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.
He took a breath as if to gather courage, before sliding closer and putting his head on my chest.
