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“Okay, no dancing,” I promise. His mouth twitches again. What I really want to do is show him what a proper kiss feels like, but instead, I say, “If you want, I can show you how to pull someone closer.”

He blinks rapidly and nods his head. I press my lips together so I don’t laugh. I wouldn’t be laughing at him per say, but he is adorable. “Y-yes,” he says when I don’t immediately pull him in. “You can pull me closer.”

I slide the hand at his waist around to the small of his back, still over his shirt, and bring him in a half a step. Close enough that I can feel the heat of him reaching for me. His hands tighten on my arms, and he puffs out a breath.

“Still good?” I ask into the hair at the top of his head.

He nods into my chest. “Yes. This is—a lot. Not bad, but…a lot.”

“We can stop,” I say automatically.

His fingers tighten on my biceps, and he presses closer, his body going flush with mine, and I bite back a groan as my eyes slam shut. Fuck. His stomach presses against me, and there is no way possible he doesn’t feel my growing hard-on.

“Is kissing next?” he asks.

I swallow. It’s official, my roommate is trying to murder me.

“Uh, no. Not today,” I say. But I do run my hand up his back, while my other one sinks into the hair at the back of his neck encouraging his head to lay on my chest.

“Is this a sexual hug?” he asks into my shirt.

A sexual hug? I chuckle. It sure does feel sexual. “Maybe more along the lines of cuddling a little bit…”

“I thought cuddling was laying down, should we lay down?”

I bite back another groan and tip my head back. “Do you want to lay down?”

“We…we can.”

EIGHTEEN

QUINN

“Your bed or mine?” Daniel asks, his eyes going to his and then to mine.

I hesitate. “Mine is closer.”

It really isn’t. That’s just an excuse to have him lay on my bed and possibly transfer some of his scent to my comforter. It’s a selfish move that I don’t want to examine.

He lets me go and lays down on my bed, and I think my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I can feel it in my throat. My mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty.

I roll my lips together as I watch him scoot toward the wall. Then he pats the small space next to him.

My bed. He’s on my bed.

“You can sit,” he suggests. “Or lay down…”

The space is narrow, and he’s really big. If I lie down, we will be touching from foot to head. I rub my arms as goosebumps explode all over my skin at the thought. The crazy part is, I don’t feel an ounce of not wanting to do it. In fact, it’s the opposite. I want to be close to him, as close as he’ll let me be at least.

I sit first. The mattress dips under my weight. I pause for a minute and then swing my legs up and lie on my back like I’m waiting for an X-ray. His shoulder is warm against mine, and I’m almost hanging off the side of the bed. The smell of him reaches me again, traces of the same smell I⁠—

I slam that mental door so hard my ears ring.

“Uh, relax a little, you look like a corpse,” he says.

“I’m horizontal. That was the assignment.”

“Fair.” The bed shifts, but I don’t look at him. “Can I turn on my side? I won’t put my leg over you. I just want to see you.”