His sleeping bag has got to be a hopeless bundle of rain and mud at this point.
He sits up on his knees, assessing our situation. I have to tear my eyes away from his black boxer briefs, and the carved stretch of his stomach that isn’t covered by my hoodie that he’s still wearing.
But the alternative is his face, andugh—it’ssucha good face.
He’s hot when he’s smiling, and he’s hot when he’s perplexed. Right now, with his five o’clock shadow and the way he’s biting his full lower lip, he’s kind of off the hotness charts entirely.
“You’ll be warm,” he finally says after a long moment of silence, as if the conversation that led him to this conclusion wasn’t just in his own head. “That’s all that matters.”
“And what about you?” I ask.
“You’ll sleep in the sleeping bag, and I’ll sleep next to you. Not in the sleeping bag.”
“But you’re…” My eyes drift to his bare legs, veritable tree trunks that support his over-six-foot frame.
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I’m what?”
I pretend to ignore the way he’s caught me staring. “Won’t you be cold?”
The night air turned chilly hours before the storm rolled in, but there’s even more of a bite to it now.
He shrugs. “I might be.”
This sleeping bag is mummy-shaped, barely enough room for one person, let alone two—especially when we’re talking about trying to squeeze an entire Thorn-sized human inside.
Still, I’m tempted to try.
“Okay, this is going to sound like the dumbest idea,” I say as I unzip the sleeping bag and climb back out. “But what if we, like…spread some clothes underneath us for cushioning and then share the sleeping bag as a blanket?”
He considers it, eyeing my short sleeves and even shorter shorts, then shakes his head. “I’m afraidyou’llbe too cold that way.”
“Easy,” I say. “Just sleep close enough to keep me warm.”
His eyebrows raise, and I slap a hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to say thatout loud—
But—
Maybe it’s good that I did.
Maybe it’s good that I was honest.
“Sure, why not,” he says after a beat, grinning. “Let’s try it.”
And that’s how I end up spooning with Thorn in the middle of a thunderstorm: every inch of him pressed up against every inch of me, his left arm wrapped around me and pulling me in tight, the sleeping bag in no way big enough to share.
He generates more than enough warmth, though—so much that, an hour later, when we’re both clearly still wide awake, he whispers something in the dark, his breath hot in my hair.
“Mind if I take the hoodie off?”
I will not sleep a wink if he takes the hoodie off.
Sadie of Tomorrow might regret it—but right now, all I care about is Sadie of Tonight.
“I don’t mind,” I reply.
A moment later, it’s clearwhyhe wanted to take it off: the heat of his bare chest radiates through my silk pajamas. He’s a furnace.
Neither of us pulls away. If anything, we get closer: he’s so tall it’s like I’m totally enveloped by him, his lips pressed into the top of my head and my toes curled against his ankles. His hand slides down the length of my arm and settles at my hip.
