He grins when I go back into the bedroom, and as we pass one another, he tugs on my shorts. “Cute.”
I settle into my side of the bed. The pillow wall remains where we left it. I think about dismantling it but decide not to. Everything between us seems so ambiguous. We’ve kissed, we’ve told each other we don’t hate each other, but Hunter didn’t make his move as soon as we were on our own. He didn’t even try to kiss me again.
He comes into the bedroom, still grinning at me. He slips between the sheets, partially hidden by the feather wall between us.
“Did you enjoy your day?” he asks, settling down so we’re both lying on our sides, facing each other.
I nod, unsure about what’s next. Are we going to chitchat? “Yeah, it was super fun.”
“What was your favorite part?”
If I were capable of arching an eyebrow, that’s exactly what I’d be doing right about now. “My favorite part?”
“Yeah. Which part of the day did you enjoy the most?”
Is he fishing for compliments? Does he want me to tell him how much I enjoyed his kiss? How my favorite part was sitting on his lap, his hands on my body, confessing that we don’t actually hate each other?
“I’m not sure I have an order for my favorite parts of today.”
“Oh, really?” he says through a smile. His tone is teasing, and I don’t get why he’s holding back. “Kissing you was definitely my number one. Hearing how you don’t hate me was up there too.”
I let out a small laugh. “Nope. Don’t hate you. Well, not today, anyway. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”
He holds my gaze for a second, like he wants to say something else, but he seems to change his mind. “Yeah, there’s always room for you hating me tomorrow.” He reaches for the pillow at the top of our pillow wall and tosses it behind him to the floor. “I don’t think we need this.”
My stomach swoops as he demolishes the wall between us.
“That’s better,” he says, sliding his leg over to my side of the bed, his toes touching mine.
At the contact, a thousand thoughts flood my brain. I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to get hurt by this guy. I don’t want to have to deal with the aftermath of not being able to navigate family functions when Hunter and I inevitably fall apart.
I pull my leg away, and he must know what I’m thinking.
“It’s a lot,” he says. “Their expectations. All the connections between us. It could all go very wrong.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s a lot.”
“It’s not that I don’t want things to ... go further. I do. You’re beautiful and ... I like you. I feel like you show me a side of yourself that not many people are lucky enough to see ...”
“Or maybe you see a side of me that not many peoplecansee.”
“I have my Lucy Jones glasses on, you mean?”
I laugh. “Maybe.”
“It feels like we’re connected on a level I didn’t even know existed.”
I roll onto my back because what he’s saying is too much. Not because I don’t think he’s telling the truth. But because I understand his words exactly. He gets me. And I get him. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. There aren’t many people who know me better than I know myself, who see the good in me when they’ve experienced plenty of the bad.
“At least tomorrow, you’ll be free of me. This weekend will be over. We will have both fulfilled our roles, and we can go off into the sunset knowing your best friend and my sister had the bachelor and bachelorette weekend they wanted.”
“You’ll be free of unreliable me. Forgetting the wigs and my seasickness pills. Not helping organize the groceries or drinks. You can’t rely on me, and now you don’t have to.”
His tone is jovial, like he’s in on the joke, but there’s something underneath that feels like he’s asking me a question.
“I don’t think you’re unreliable,” I say.
He doesn’t respond.
