“They’re folded in the bathroom,” he said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.
I started forward, but he stepped in my way. I tried to slip around him, but he blocked that path too. I stopped and scowled.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
It reminded me to look at his tattoo.
Squinting, I leaned closer. The second I read it, I gasped.
Born to die.
“What isthat?” I pointed at the offensive text.
“You’ve never seen a tattoo before?”
“That is not a tattoo. That’s a death wish!” I accused.
He scoffed.
I glared. “Then what would you call it?”
“Areminder,” he deadpanned.
Unease twisted silently beneath my ribs.He’s walking around with a reminder etched into his skin that he’s going to die.I know I didn’t really know him, but the idea that he could die was somehow paralyzing.
“Back to bed you go,” he said as if I wasn’t standing there speed-running an existential crisis. Like the idea of him dying wasn’t a state of emergency.
“I thought you wanted me to leave,” I managed as he tried to guide me back to the bed.
“You know,” he mused, “at first, I thought you couldn’t hear. Now I’m convinced you just hear what you want.”
“Obviously not, because I don’t want to hear any of this.”
“Hooty-hoo,” he hollered. “I think my dick unlocked your premium attitude.”
I opened my lips, but he shushed me. “It’s time for a lesson.”
“A lesson?” I wondered.
“In cuddling.”
My stomach dropped. Hit the ground and rolled right under the bed. “W-what?”
Grunting, he swept me into his arms, my feet dangling over his forearm. “If you aren’t going to listen, I’ll just make you.”
“You can’t.”
His brow arched. “You saying you don’t want to cuddle with me?”
Of course I wanted to. But I admitted nothing out loud.
“That’s what I thought,” he mused, placing me back in thebed. “Make room for me.”
I slid over, only to have him grab me back when he sat down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I didn’t bother replying. He was the one who told me to make room.
“The rules of cuddling are as follows…”
