She considers it, staring at nothing in the space behind me. Then she nods. “I think it actually did.” Sera runs her finger over the lip of the glass thinking. “I’ve been slipping through the cracks of my life for so long… I feel like maybe I’ve found some solid ground.” She huffs a laugh then winces, fingers flying to her throat.
“Sore?” I ask.
She nods.
“I can make hot toddies,” I offer. “If you have the ingredients.”
Her eyes light. “Yes!” A few minutes later I hand her a steaming mug, and she takes a careful sip. “Oh, wow.”
I smile and lift my own mug. Sera glances toward the sofa.
“Did you have plans tonight?” she asks.
“Nope.” I lean back against the counter again. “You?”
“I was just going to watch a movie.”
She hesitates, chewing her lip, eyes flicking to me and away again. “You could… stay, if you want.”
I lift a brow, and tease, “Best friends night in?”
She grimaces and rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not great at the friends thing.”
“Hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” she says quietly. “I’ve had friends, but… My life growing up wasn’t normal.” She gives me a wry look. “I’m sure you’ve seen the papers.”
I nod.
“It’s hard to get close to people when you can’t explain what’s happening at home,” she continues. “And after Aaron, I just… pushed everyone away.”
Something tightens in my chest. I know what it’s like to carry darkness alone. To think isolation is safer than sharing the pain of what’s happening in your house.
“I’d love to stay,” I say.
Her smile is small, but I can tell she’s pleased, and that creates an unfamiliar tension in my chest.
We settle onto opposite ends of the couch, but the furniture isn’t large, so there isn’t much space between us. Sera tucks her legs beneath her, mug balanced carefully in her hands. I stretchone arm along the back cushion, deliberately casual, though every nerve in my body is tuned to her.
She selects an old action film, which is good because I don’t think I could concentrate on dialogue right now if my life depended on it. After a few minutes, she reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch, and pulls it over her legs, then pauses, glancing at me.
“You cold?”
“A little,” I lie.
She stretches the blanket, tugging it so it covers my legs, too. The fabric brushes my thigh, and I shift so that I’m further under it, settling next to her. My body reacts immediately—need coiling low and insistent. I shift subtly, grateful for the dim light and the bulk of the blanket to hide my body’s reaction. It's like being a teenager again. Except as a teenager, I would have already tried to make a move.
I have an urge to pull her close, to feel her weight against me, and tuck her head under my chin.
Cuddling.
The word sounds absurd in my head.
I’ve never wanted that before.
Her scent drifts to me every time she moves—clean, warm, unmistakablyher. It’s maddening.
As the movie approaches the climax, I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us, of how small that distance is and how desperately I want to cross it. My dick is straining against my zipper, and I swear I’m sweating from the effort I’m having to exert to sit here and keep my hands to myself.
