He’s so serious about it. I could poke fun at him, but he seems to really want to impart this knowledge. “Why?”
He leans over me, hands on the mattress, his weight making it sink slightly. “Because then you sleep too deeply.”
“I sleep hard at night. I’m out in like two seconds,” I say, bragging, like an out-like-a-light skill is some kind of superpower. “What’s the second rule?”
He lifts a brow, moves around the bed, and hops in on the other side, scooting over to me. “Naps are better with a…” There’s a pause, like he’s weighing what to tell me before he settles on, “friend.”
The word is warm—a little unexpected too. As he inches closer, it doesn’t feel wrong; it feels like a euphemism and he knows it.
“Is rule three you should make room for thatfriendunder the blanket?” I ask, a little giddy about getting close to him again even after that heated moment amongst his suits.
“Yes,” he says as I lift the blanket, inviting him to cuddle. He RSVPs to the hilt, sliding right next to me.
“Rule four.”
“There’s more?”
“Yes. Set an alarm. Otherwise your nap might turn into an all-day affair.”
“An all-day affair sounds a little risqué.”
“It does. Which is why I’ve set mine already. For forty-five minutes.”
I groan. “That’s so long.”
He laughs, then kisses my shoulder. “Rule five. Turn on your side. Let me wrap my arms around you.”
My heart shimmies. But why? Why is a nap exciting to me? I don’t know. It’s just a silly nap. But this lesson is also as organized as any date I’ve ever planned for a client. Only it’s a new kind of date—an intimate one.
Lake wraps his strong arms around me, then nuzzles the back of my neck. That’s not entirely relaxing, so I blurt out, “Are you always a cuddler?”
I’m not sure why I’m asking either.
“Remy,” he says, just shy of exasperated.
I wince. “Sorry. You probably want to sleep.”
“No. Well yes, but also—” he hesitates, then exhales heavily. “I haven’t napped with anyone in a long, long time, so I really don’t know. I just want to hold you.”
My heart springs in my chest. It’s a little uncomfortable the way it’s bouncing around in there. “Okay,” I say.
It feels like giving in, like letting go, and it’s terrifying.
Especially when he shifts a little, then blows out a slow, steady breath. Again and again and again. He’s asleep in seconds, his big, warm body holding mine close.
I close my eyes, but I’m not sleepy. Not one bit.
I try to relax. To think of breathing exercises. Of sleep techniques that I’ve never needed at night and never tried during the day since, well, naps are not my thing.
Is a nap date my thing though? I’m not sure either. There’s not much room to spread out. There’s not much room to do anything.
I try to just be in the moment. Surely, that’s what my therapist would tell me.
I hear Elena’s voice saying,When you get too much in your head, try to just be in your body. Look around and focus on the here and now, not what you need to do next, or do better, or do tomorrow.
But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t advise me to blow the hockey player I’m fake dating, the hockey player I work with, no less.Anddoing it a few weeks after a painful, public breakup.
My chest tightens. Not with regret, but with worry. I’m not sure what happens next, and the uncertainty makes me feel itchy.
