“Sorry,” I offer with a smirk. “Having a little midnight snack?”
Her face flushes a deep shade of red, and she looks down, embarrassed as she mumbles, “I am sorry.”
She quickly tries to move past me, but I block her path with my arm. “Hey,” I soothe, gently turning her to face me. “Are you okay?”
She avoids my gaze, so I take a moment to observe her. She’s wearing black leggings and what appears to be one of Josh’s T-shirts. It fits her, though it’s snug around her chest and belly.
I notice the outline of her nipples and find it hard to look away, especially since they become hard under my gaze. When our eyes finally meet, hers are filled with embarrassment, instantly dampening my horny thoughts.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with genuine concern.
Her voice quivers as she replies, “I finally felt hungry, but there was no food at Sophia’s place. I knew there were leftovers here. I feel so agitated and stirred up, and I couldn’t sleep and?—”
“Hey,” I interrupt gently, cupping her cheek. “Do you want me to make you some food? I can cook us something. Whatever you need.”
“It’s not like I’m hungry anymore,” she whispers, her vulnerability shining through.
“It’s okay to eat your feelings,” I reassure her, my tone filled with understanding. “We can talk, or we can stuff our faces. What do you prefer?”
She huffs, still avoiding eye contact, and it bothers me to see her like this. “As if you would do stuff like that.”
I let go of her, taking a bowl of cookies with me as I make my way to the couch. “Come here,” I encourage her, patting the space beside me.
She comes and sits, and I take a cookie, popping it in my mouth, savoring the sugary taste with a contented hum.
She hesitates, a touch of guilt in her eyes as she comments, “You don’t have to eat that because of me. I know you don’t like sugary crap.” But she takes a cookie too.
“Oh, I absolutely love sugary crap. I love it way too much,” I respond, flashing her a reassuring smile. She looks at me critically, sitting in only my boxer shorts, her gaze going down to my abs. I set the bowl on the coffee table and take her hand in mine. “I know what it feels like to have a difficult relationship with food. You don’t have to hide from me.”
Curiosity fills her eyes as she asks, “How?”
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts before sharing a piece of my own vulnerability. “My mom died from cancer when I was nineteen,” I begin, my voice carrying the weight of the memory. “She was healthy, didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, and yet, she died from breast cancer. Watching my fierce, beautiful mother go through that was the hardest thing ever,” I admit, and she scoots over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“Now, I’m terrified.” I laugh, though it’s humorless. “I can’t enjoy anything without thinking about the potential health consequences. I eat healthy and work out so much because I’m scared, not because I enjoy it. So, I get it.” I lean down to kiss the top of her head. “The subconscious is a powerful thing. If this is what you need to cope right now, then let’s eat. Don’t be too hard on yourself. The last few weeks have been a shit show.”
“But I got the best friend I could have ever asked for out of it,” she whispers against my chest, reminding me that I’m half naked and her mouth is on my skin.
I quickly grab a couch pillow and place it in my lap, hoping to cover my boner. Then I take the bowl of cookies, offering it to her with a soft smile. “Cookie? Or should I cook?”
“No,” she mumbles. “Can we just cuddle for a bit, please?”
“Sure,” I agree, setting the bowl aside again and laying down.
She snuggles into me, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her close and gently stroking her back. I marvel at how she’s let her guard down, allowing me to be a source of support even though it was clear that she felt more than uncomfortable having me find her like this. Her trust feels like a gift. Being there for her is all I wanted. It doesn’t matter what problem she faces, I want to be by her side for it.
Her breath is hot on my neck, and as she moves slightly, her shirt wanders up on her back, so my fingers graze her soft skin. I pause, wanting nothing more than to slip my hand under hershirt—not to start anything but to caress her bare skin, to stroke her the way it should be.
Instead, I grab the hem of her shirt and pull it back down to resume my strokes over the fabric. As we lay there together, the minutes pass in soothing silence, and gradually, her breathing becomes steady and even.
The front door opens, and I mentally kick myself for putting the gun back in the drawer. But it’s just Josh, looking disheveled, with wide eyes, until he sees her laying on top of me.
“Is she okay?” he whispers, coming over to us.
“She couldn’t sleep and was hungry,” I whisper back, not stopping my circles on her back.
“Good. Good she ate something.” He nods to himself, a faint but relieved smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Want to take her back to Sophia’s?” I inquire softly.
