She huffs and shakes her head. “That was overzealous.”
“If watching a movie means I get to spend a little more time with you, then I’m very zealous.”
Reaching for the remote, she turns on her streaming platform and pulls up the menu. “What do you want to watch?”
“You pick,” I say, leaning back and throwing my arm across the back of the couch.
She scrolls through the options, settling on a romantic comedy. Then, she shocks me by placing the remote on the table, grabbing a blanket, and moving closer. She sits beside me and essentially cuddles into my side.
For someone who’s not into cuddling, she sure seems to do it a lot.
I barely pay attention to the movie. My entire focus is on the woman tucked beneath my arm. It doesn’t take long before she drifts off to sleep. Her body grows heavy and her breathing evens out and deepens. The faintest snore is like music to my ears.
By the time the movie ends, I’m exhausted myself, and even though I know I need to get up, to encourage Charli to go to bed, that’s not what I do. I kick my feet up on her coffee table, draw her even closer into my arms, and close my eyes.
When I drift off to sleep, it’s with the hope morning doesn’t come as quickly as I expect.
I want to stay right here, in this moment, forever.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Charli
I slowly open my eyes and focus straight ahead. The TV’s glowing but on sleep mode, and there’s a slight kink in my neck. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why.
I’m wrapped in Quinn’s arm, pulled tightly against his side. I can only see him out of the corner of my eye, but his head is lopped back, his mouth open, and a light snore fills the room. It makes me smile.
But before I can readjust my position and fall back asleep, I’m reminded of the real reason for my sudden awakening. My stomach rolls and my mouth starts to fill with saliva. I’m going to be sick.
As quickly and as quietly as I can, I scramble from the couch and make a beeline for the bathroom. I don’t even bother flipping on the overhead light. I don’t need it. I’ve done this every morning for the last week, and the last thing I want to do is see it with my own eyes.
I barely get the toilet seat up when the contents of my stomach make a reappearance. There isn’t much there, just a few peanut butter crackers I ate before Quinn arrived lastnight. I’ve learned it’s best just to go ahead and put something in my stomach before bed, because I’m gonna be throwing up regardless, and dry heaving is by far a worse fate.
The lights don’t turn on, but I know the moment Quinn steps inside the bathroom. He moves behind me, grabbing my hair and gently pulling it away from the toilet.
God, how embarrassing is this?!
“You can go,” I mutter when the heaving has subsided, leaving me panting, sweaty, and dying for a toothbrush.
“I’m not leaving,” he insists, gently rubbing my back.
I hate that I love it.
“I’m fine,” I add, resting my head against my hand on the seat of the toilet.
“I know, but I want to help,” he says softly.
“You can’t,” I argue, hating feeling so weak, and worse, having him witness it.
He doesn’t say anything else, just continues to stroke my back until the sickness passes. Finally, I sit up, craving the comfort of my bed, even though being wrapped in his arms was incredibly cozy too.
“Get in bed, Charli. I’ll grab some water and crackers,” he says, stepping to the side while he places a gentle hand around my arm to guide me to a standing position. His eyes hold nothing but concern and sympathy as he watches me, waiting.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him.
Nodding, he replies, “I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”
