“Ian?” she asks softly.
“Hmm?” I lift my chin and our eyes lock, my longing reflected in hers.
She settles herself between my legs and cups my cheeks. “What is it?”
I gulp through the knot of nerves, pursing my lips.
Her green eyes bore into mine. “I know there’s more.”
I shrug, but don’t downplay it. “It was a rough day.”
She tilts her head, studying my face. “Is it because of my father? Was he mad you were late?”
That’s an understatement. I shake my head, not wanting to lie, but that’s between me and Coach. I really don’t want to add more distress to our fragile situation.
“I can talk with him and tell him it was my fault.” She offers in a meek voice. “I’m causing you trouble.”
I drag her down to my lap and dig my fingers into her waist. How I’d love to lose myself in her and forget everything but the feel of her in my arms as I fill her up and we become one.
“No.”
“Stubborn,” she sighs. “Fine, let’s play a video game.”
Her suggestion draws a smile on my face, and I bend slightly forward to pick up the two gaming controllers. She takes the seat next to me, our arms and thighs brushing.
I can’t focus for shit at her nearness. No wonder she succeeds in killing me several times. But her joy is contagious.
With her, time has a nasty habit of flying away. Or maybe it’s my desperation to experience more moments with her, wanting to hold on to us.
When she stifles another yawn, I shut off the game.
The streetlights reflect in the window, being the only source of light.
I stand up, going to the bedroom. She’s right behind me as I hand her a sheet, a pillow, and a blanket.
I will sleep like shit knowing she’s on the sofa when this stubborn woman of mine should be in my bed.
I help her ready the sofa for bed, and she snuggles herself in it, saying, “You should give this sofa more credit. It’s so soft. It’s definitely better than my bed.”
“If you say so. Good night, Lilly.”
I force my legs to move. Leaving her is pure torture.
“Good night, Ian.”
In bed, I hear her tossing and turning, accompanied by her small puffs of air. Maybe it’s not as comfortable as she wants me to believe.
I am about to suggest we switch places when she asks in an almost inaudible voice, “Are you asleep?”
“No. Can’t sleep.”
“What are you thinking about?”
Crossing my arms behind my neck, I stare at the ceiling. “Do you really want to hear that?”
“We could go back to pretending tomorrow.”
I groan at the word pretending, but it’s the truth. That’s what we do—expert pretenders.
