The air leaves my lungs.
“Youcarriedme?”
As in… all six feet plus of quarterback muscle scooped me up like some rom-com fever dream? Did I really hear that right?
“Of course,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “You passed out two seconds after you finished serenading the dog. Couldn’t leave you there alone, all adorable and defenseless.”
My body lights up, a quick, involuntary rush sparking through me as I imagine his arms aroundme. Did he look at me tenderly? Brush the hair from my face as he gently laid me down on his bed, tucking me into his impossibly soft sheets?
Goddamn.
Why couldn’t I have been awake forthat?
“Hay—”
But he’s already asleep again, breathing slow and steady.
Meanwhile, I’m lying here wide awake now, heart thundering, skin buzzing. He’s so close. One shift, one breath, and our bodies would be touching.
How am I supposed to sleep like this?
It’s hard to believe that once upon a time, lying in bed next to Hayes felt completely normal. Natural. But it did.
When we were little kids, Kora used to make us popcorn and sweet treats while we watched spooky cartoons in Hayes’s bedroom. We’d stay up late in our matching Scooby-Doo pajamas—mine had Velma and ghost footprints, his had Shaggy with glow-in-the-dark eyes. After the show, we’d curl up together, a tangle of blankets and sugar, as Kora quietly tucked us in for the night.
But that was years ago. We haven’t shared a bed since sixth grade. Now, lying beside him again, everything feels different. Charged. Electric. Like the air between us has been rewired.
I keep sneaking glances at him, unable to help myself. He’s fast asleep, but somehow still impossibly gorgeous. His lashes rest dark and thick against hischeekbones, lips parted just slightly. There’s a softness to him like this—unguarded, peaceful—but also something dangerous, something magnetic. He looks like some dark fairy-tale prince. Beautiful but forbidden.
I wonder—what would happen if I reached out and touched him? Just one fingertip brushing that soft lock of hair off his forehead?
Would he stir? Would he lean into me? Would he?—
Suddenly, he rolls toward me, his arm snaking around my waist in one sleepy, unthinking motion. His grip is warm, strong. Possessive. Like he’s claiming me in his dreams without even realizing it.
He exhales softly, nuzzling into the curve of my neck, and I nearly detonate on the spot.
Oh. My. God.
I suck in a sharp breath, every inch of me frozen.
Does he know what he’s doing?
Should I move?
If Amber walked in and saw us like this, she’d murder me on the spot.
I should move. I should absolutely move.
Except… I don’t want to.
I don’t want to do anything ever again except lie here in Hayes’s bed, in his arms, forever.
My brain turns to mush. All I can think about is the way his fingers flex against my hip, the way my body is buzzing so hard I feel like I’m lit up from the inside. And I know there’s no hope of me falling asleep now. Not like this. Not with this much of himtouching this much of me. Not when every heartbeat feels like it’s screaming his name.
Sometime just before dawn, he shifts again and rolls away. His arms fall slack, and the heat between us fades as space creeps in, cool and quiet.
Only then do I let myself exhale.
