Not staring at your butt. Not at all.“Better. This b-blanket is amazing.”
“I’m glad.” He faced me and smiled.
I stared at his expression. “What?”
“You have a great smile.”
“Uh, thanks.”
He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together in front of the small flames. “Your arm okay?”
“Hurts a little if I put pressure on it. I’m a side sleeper so I had to switch from my right to left. Took me a while to get comfortable, but other than that, I haven’t noticed. I’m what one would call ayearning dreamerwhen I sleep. It means I’m open and inviting, hesitate to let people in, but very determined once I make up my mind.” God, his stare made the little control I had on my filter disappear.
His dimples returned. “Well, I can agree you’re stubborn.”
“What kind of sleeper are you?”
Oh my goodness, I just asked him the world’s stupidest question.I could’ve asked about his taxes, or football stuff, or why his pants were so tight, but no. I asked abouthis sleeping position.
If the blanket could swallow me up whole, I’d be grateful.
His lips twitched, and he plopped down onto the floor with his back to the fire. He crossed his legs and rested his beefy forearms over his knees. “Stomach.”
My pulse increased with a sick combination of excitement and warmth. “Like a baby or a skydiver?”
“Uh, what?”
“A baby? Hello?” I rolled onto my side and brought my knees to my chest. My hands were almost in a prayer position on top of the pillow. “Or more like this?” I moved both hands under the pillow and turned slightly onto my left side, with both knees lined together with my legs slightly bent.
“That.” He pointed, his brows wrinkling. “The one with the leg kicked out.”
Nodding, I felt all kinds of silly that we were talking about sleeping positions.
You’re too different.
You’re too much.
You’re too weird.
The words of my first dates came back. A sharp reminder that Harrison had ghosted me… no, just refused to acknowledge me or the incredible date I’dthoughthappened. If he’d see me coming, he’d cross the street, avoiding me at all costs. His actions set me back in the confidence department.
My face burned red, and I snuggled back into the couch, promising myself I’d bring up normal topics like weather or dogs or the best Christmas movies. I knew better than to reveal too much of myself. I’d end up hurt or feeling dumb, or worse—getting my hopes up for something that wouldn’t happen.
The silence went on for too long, and the need to fill it overwhelmed me. “The snow is really coming down out there.”
Jeez Louise, I wasthatperson. My self-loathing knew no bounds.
Harrison cleared his throat and shifted positions. “Wait, aren’t you going to tell me what the skydiver or whatnot means?”
I sneaked a glance at him over the blanket, prepared for a frown or raised brows. Instead his expression was open and curious.Interesting.It couldn’t hurt to tell him since he’d demanded I come over here anyway. Plus, this wasn’t a date.
“Well,” I cleared my throat, “skydivers are usually direct with what they want. They tend to be brash, fun, and risk-takers.”
“Hm.” He nodded a few times. “Not far off.”
“I like showing the girls the descriptions. They read into it like horoscopes, and it’s so fun seeing them accept how great they are. The article I share doesn’t have negative traits, not really. Yeah, you being brash is true, but it’s not necessarily negative, you know? It’s powerful, commanding. It gives the girls confidence, and I love it.”
“You care about them a lot.”
