When he returns from the bathroom, I’ve already tucked myself under the comforter, close to the wall. That excited glint hasn’t left his eye since I told him he could stay over, and even as he regards the bed, he doesn’t seem at all concerned about the cramped quarters.
I watch as he tugs his sweatshirt over his head, revealing a white t-shirt beneath, and I sigh in relief that he’s not going shirtless. And then, without warning, he pushes down his jeans.
“Wes!” I cry, averting my eyes to the ceiling. But not before I catch a glimpse of his dark boxer-briefs that leave little to the imagination and wonder what the hell I was thinking when I told him to stay.
He snickers. “Sorry, Ives, but I can’t sleep in jeans.”
“Great,” I mutter, my heart pounding as I keep my eyes trained upward.
Before I know it, he’s flicking off the bedside light and slipping under the covers behind me, folding my back against his front with a contented sigh. My body relaxes against his.
“We’re just sleeping,” I warn, trying not to think about how little clothing he’s wearing on his bottom half.
“I know,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. “I can be good.” He plants a sneaky, quick kiss on my temple before snuggling in closer. “Except for that. I get one.”
“One,” I sigh, though I’m making an effort not to smile.
It’s mere minutes before his breathing evens out, his arm going lax around my body. I know I should be wide awake giventhe giant of a man pressed up behind me, but exhaustion wins out and my eyes drift shut. I follow his lead not long after.
TWENTY-ONE
I wake up sweating,though this time it’s not surprising. Somehow, I turned toward Wes in my sleep, and now my arm is wedged between my chest and his, my head tucked under his chin. Our bodies are pressed close, but the comforter is stuffed between us, preventing skin-on-skin contact. Wes must have kicked it off during the night.
I try to be quiet as I shift away from him, my limbs stiff and achy from the minimal range of motion, but I’m not careful enough. He stirs with a groan, his hand flexing against my hip.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, eyes blinking open. They’re half-hooded, but he gives me a lazy smile, like waking up next to me is a wonderful surprise. My stomach flutters, and I smile back.
“Hi. How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well considering this bed is made for hobbits.”
I snicker, though my laughter dries up when he rolls onto his back and stretches his arms out with a sigh. I can’t help myself. I chance a glance at his bottom half, relieved to find the sheets are covering everything this time. Still, my cheeks warm at the thought of what might be happening under there, and I force myself to stay calm as he rolls back to face me. He mimics myposition, arm tucked under his cheek, and we stare at each other across the pillow.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes roaming unabashedly over my face, something tender in their deep depths.
“So are you,” I tell him, the dim light of my room making me brave.
Feeling safe in our early morning bubble, my eyes do the same as his, tracing lines and exploring features and committing his face to memory. He’s even more handsome than usual, dark lashes fanning across his cheekbones with every slow blink, his hair bed-mussed and wild over his forehead. My eyes linger too long on his full bottom lip, my mind replaying that perfect kiss from yesterday.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly, and my eyes snap back up to his. Once again, my blush must say it all, because a secret smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He opens his mouth to say more, but the sound of consistent knocking from the next room makes him pause. His brow furrows, and then a girl’s high-pitched moan cuts through the noise. His eyes widen. “Is that…”
“Ava with her flavor of the week? Probably.”
We go quiet, listening to the exaggerated wails and relentless headboard bangs.
“Is she always this loud?” Wes whispers. I nod, pressing my face into the pillow to muffle a snicker. “She sounds like a dying cat.”
“What, you don’t find that attractive?”
He smirks. “If I was an adult film producer, maybe. She sounds like she’s auditioning for the starring role.”
“Just wait for the climax. It will make your ears bleed.”
“You mean it gets worse than this?” Suppressing a laugh, I nod, and sure enough, Ava does not disappoint. I cringe into mypillow at the sound of her fake orgasm (because surely that can’t be real), and Wes shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus.”
“Told you.”
“That settles it. You need to come live with me. Staying here puts you at risk of rupturing your eardrums. How will we watch movies? And don’t say subtitles. I can’tstandsubtitles.”
