Page 134 of Off the Grid

And it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be there. It was because I did. It was because I woke up with strong arms around me and a sense of safety I haven’t felt . . . ever, I don’t think. Other than the unconditional safety I feel with my family.

Clearly those were crazy thoughts.

Still are.

I allowed myself the grace to breathe Riggs in for a few moments. To feel the steady, even beat of his heart beneath my hand. To sink into the feel of his body against mine. To just be without thinking or wondering or . . . anything.

Then just as I was about to try and slip out of his arms to prevent awkwardness, Riggs hooked his arm around my waist and murmured, “Stop thinking. We’re just sleeping. It’s not a big deal.”

It’s not a big deal.

His words replay in my head as I watch him make coffee in my hotel room.

Then why did it feel like a big deal?

Because you’re catching feelings for a guy who doesn’t catch feelings back.

Because you feared that once he knew the truth about what happened, he wouldn’t want to touch you again. Instead, he pulled you in even closer.

And he keeps glancing at me over the rim of his steaming mug and not saying anything.

“Can you talk about something and stop staring at me?” I ask.

“Someone’s not a morning person,” he says.

“No. It’s more like you keep staring at me like I’ve grown a third head rather than actually talking to me.”

“You snore in your sleep. It’s cute.”

“What? I do not.”

He just smiles and takes another sip of his coffee, eyes remaining on me. “Everybody does. And you haven’t grown a third head. Not that I can see. But you are kind of adorable with bedhead and your grumpiness.”

“Are you trying to piss me off, Riggs?”

“Nope. I’m thinking about the gala.”

“Wait. What? You just went from bedhead to the charity event in Champagne?”

He nods in regards to the event in France. “You going?”

“Nope. I don’t like galas. I don’t dress up for galas. I don’t do galas.”

“I have to go.”

“Great. Good for you. I’m sure you’ll look ridiculously handsome in your tuxedo charming everyone in attendance.”

“Come with me. Keep me company.”

I level him with a look. “We both know that can’t happen.”

“What can’t? A Moretti going with their driver? Pretty sure that’s allowed.”

“Trying to bind me out of obligation, are you?”

“Bind? I mean . . . I didn’t think we’d progressed that far in this—whatever this is here—but we can always experiment with that if you want.”

It takes me a second to hear what he says and its intention. “Okay. It’s time for you to go now.” I laugh and point to the door.