And it’s lovely.
Really.
So why is he right? WhyamI on edge?
Why don’t I watch him practice?
Why do I sleep in my room when he invited me to stay in his?
And why, an hour after finally getting to sleep, when I wake up to change my tampon, do I blush even harder when I find he’s sleeping next to me?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.Hewasn’t. And I’m not even sure how I expected him to be. I just…
This is everything.
And I don’t know how to deal with that.
Not without wanting more.
TWENTY-ONE
YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME
Denny didn’t throwme out of her room that night.
I fully expected an eviction notice when I sneaked into her bed after returning from practice and a couple drinks with the guys, but that didn’t happen.
D slept beside me and when she stirred, woke me in the process.
The most precarious part was after she took the opportunity to use the bathroom and mumbled, “This gonna be a thing where you come and sleep in my bedroom now?”
I just hummed, fully aware that the wrong answer could get me kicked out. Thankfully, that satisfied some part of her sleepy brain because she rolled into me and snuggled me harder than before.
I should have known from all the pillows that she was a snuggler.
But this is different.
She cleaves herself to me and I never, ever want her to let go.
Even now, four days later, her face tucked into my throat as she fights wakefulness, her body nestled against mine, fingers toying with the chain my mom gave me before she died, I’m still counting my blessings because though she frowns at me whenever I show up at her door, she lets me in—doesn’t matter if it’s 2 AM after we bussed back from an away game and I just got home. She never turns me away.
Hand stroking over her back, I spend the first few minutes of the day assimilating this new normal.
We’ve slept in the same room before. But I didn’t know that her feet are always cold and, by contrast, that her ass is molten.
The shape, sure.
B. A. N. G. I. N. G.
One day, I hope she’ll let me fuck it. That’s how banging it is. She has these little bumps on her hips that are perfect for grabbing too.
Not that I’ve told her that.
I don’t feel like getting scalped.
Those were Denny facts one and two. Three was me knowing that she always needed this battered Kermit plushie to sleep, but number four was that she genuinely had nightmares without it.
I cast a smug glance at the ugly green frog that’s decorated my pink sheet-covered bed—stolen from the laundry room. Just for her comfort!—for the last couple nights, since we crashed here after a marathon session ofRed Mist. (I swear, she just says she hates it but she plays better than Logan.)
