All other thoughts fly out of my mind. “Hey! You said you would think about it!”
“I did. And I still say no.”
chapter seven
Nate snores when he sleeps.He woke up before I did yesterday, but this time, I get to steal the moments before he’s awake. I have no idea if his snores are because he’s scrunched up to fit on the love seat or if it’s something that popped up in the last few years.
There’s not much I don’t know about him.
I’m determined to make itnothing.
That’s the only logical reason I have for watching him as the sun rises, filling the room with light.
I didn’t sleep well the night before. I never do in a new environment. I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position until I settled for watching my best friend sleep.
Shortly after the sun rises, he starts to stir.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice thick. He can’t even stretch out on the couch. “That sucked.”
“Have regrets?”
Nate jumps and his gaze meets mine. “I should’ve known you’d be awake.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hate sleeping in new places, but the bed wassocomfy. You could—” I’m stopped when a pillow hits me right in the face. “Rude.”
“Don’t gloat at a man in pain.”
“You did this to yourself. I’m allowed to gloat.”
He flips me off before he slowly stands. “Cover your ears.”
I yelp and do what I’m told. For some reason, I also cover my eyes, going for complete sensory deprivation. I give him more than sixty seconds before I peek to see if he’s back. When he’s done, my cheeks are on fire. “You could have told me to leave.”
“And have you move from your comfy bed? Never.”
“Joke’s on you, I have to leave the bed anyway. I need food and coffee.”
Nate laughs as if he knew that was exactly what I was going to say, and then gets new clothes for the day. I do the same and shuffle into the bathroom to change into a longer pair of shorts and a light green shirt.
“Now you look like you’re in vacation mode.”
“I’m trying to be. I might still go for a run later.”
“How the hell are you not sore?” he asks.
“I am. I still do it anyway.”
He shakes his head as we walk out of the suite and down to the smoothie bar. I stare at the menu for far too long, trying to decide what to get.
“I guess I’ll be basic,” I mutter.
“The berry blast looks good.”
“It doesn’t even say what kind of berries are in there.”
He shrugs. “I like berries.”
My mind instantly goes to my nickname. Did he mean it in that way, or is the proximity slowly infecting my brain?
