I briefly let my eyes move up to the box to make sure I’m not going to drop it on her head, but then my eyes lock back on hers.
“Thanks,” she whispers when I slide the tub between us and settle it on the ground.
“And why did you need to get this tub down in the middle of the night?”
She crouches down, popping the lid off. “There’s a sweatshirt in here I want to wear.”
I smirk, eyeing the entire row of sweatshirts and hoodies all hanging directly behind her on hangers. “And none of those would do?”
She gives them a quick glance over her shoulder. “No.”
She says it so dryly. It makes me smile even more. There’s nothing fake about this woman. There’s no smoke and mirrors. She is unequivocally herself.
She is entirely too endearing, and she has no idea.
“Bingo,” she says, pulling a faded black sweatshirt from the tub.
“What makes that one so special?”
“It’s the comfiest,” she says, shimmying past me.
I follow her back into her room, where she is pulling a pair of pajama shorts from her dresser.
“Then why was it in a box?”
She tosses her clothes onto her bed, flailing her hands out at her sides. “I was trying to force myself to wear some of my newer clothes, but I’ve had too many drinks to give a shit about that tonight.”
Her fingers grip the bottom of her shirt, and I realize she’s about to pull it off even though I’m standing right here. I spin around, so my back is to her.
I badly want to see what she has hiding under the shirt she’s been wearing all night, but this isn’t the time. She has been drinking, and that just isn’t a line I’m willing to cross.
“You’re such a gentleman.”
“I try to be.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her clothes fly across the room and land in her hamper. “All clear… you can turn around.”
Slowly, I spin to face her. She’s wearing the too-big sweatshirt over a pair of pink pajama shorts. The sweatshirt is so big on her, I can barely see the shorts peeking out below the hem.
She ducks into her bathroom and quickly washes her face and brushes her teeth. I’m just standing here like an idiot because this is the best I think she’s ever looked.
This domestic side of her is tickling something in my brain I didn’t know existed.
Her body leans against the bathroom doorframe when she catches me staring. She looks like she’s going to say something sassy, but she yawns before any words can come out.
I chuckle, reaching out a hand. “Let’s get you to bed, sleepyhead.”
I kind of expect her to fight me on it, but she slides her hand into mine with no resistance at all. I guide her to the side of the bed where the nightstand sits. She snuggles into the pillow while I drape her comforter over her.
I want to kiss her on the lips, but I settle for her temple instead. “Good night, beautiful. Sleep well.”
As I start to pull away, her hand grips mine. “Don’t,” she breathes out. “Don’t go.”
I shouldn’t stay, but I’m finding it really hard to deny anything she asks of me right now with the way she’s staring at me.
She swallows. “I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”
I run my knuckles down the side of her face. “Okay.” Relief seems to wash through her.
