“Hmm, what time is it?” She asks, snuggling closer to me.
I bite my tongue and count to ten, trying to get my body under control. “It’s almost four in the morning.”
“Did you fall asleep?”
I chuckle. “Yes.”
“That’s a first.”
“Yes, it is.” I put the recliner down. “Do you need me to help you up to your room?”
“No, I can make it,” she says, but then she doesn’t move.
“Okay, let me help you stand up.” I stand her up with me, and this helps her wake up.
She turns, wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me. “I love you.”
I grip her hips, trying to keep her from brushing up against me so she doesn’t feel how turned on I am. “I love you. Come on, I’ll help you to the stairs.”
“Okay, but do you want me to help you first?”
“With what?”
She turns, blinking a couple of times, and then a slow seductive smile spreads across her face. “With that?” And she slowly rakes her eyes down my body.
“Holy hell, Hannah,” I mutter in her ear. “You know I do. It will go away.”
“Ah, too bad.” She giggles.
I turn her to face the stairs. “Go to bed, my tired temptress.”
“Another time then,” she giggles again, glancing back as she walks up the stairs.
I’ve never heard her giggle so freely before. I love the sound. I make sure she gets up the stairs in one piece, and then I use the bathroom. I take a lot of deep breaths and conjugate verbs in French until I feel normal and in control. I head up to the kitchen to eat Mrs. Clark’s snickerdoodle cookies. When I get upstairs and turn the kitchen light on, I find Hannah fast asleep on the other stairs. I can’t resist and snap a picture of her with my phone. “Hannah, wake up.” I grab her around the waist and help her up.
“Why are you in my room?”
“Oh, Hanny, we’re not in your room. We’re on the stairs. Come on, one foot in front of the other.”
“Are you going to stay with me?”
“I want to, but you know I can’t.”
“You have before,” she whispers.
“I know. I will another night.”
“Do you promise?”
I let out a long-frustrated breath because I want to stay tonight, and I want to sleep next to her every night. I also don’t want to ruin our liberties, but I can’t deny her. “I promise. Now let me help you lie down.”
27. Page 8
I wake up with a groan. I look down at myself, and I’m still in my cheer uniform. My head’s throbbing from all the little ponytails and bobby pins pressed against my scalp while I slept. I walk into the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. “Oh, my gosh.” I cringe. I look like the living dead. I have raccoon eyes, and the paint on my neck and face is smeared. I peel off my cheer uniform, cut out all the little rubber bands in my hair, and then get in the shower.
Yesterday was such a long day. I rub the ache out of my scalp while I let the hot water pour over me. It takes me almost fifteen minutes to wash all the paint and glitter off my body and out of my hair. But the extra scrubbing is worth the fun of getting all decked out and glittered up for the football games. After my shower, I dress in comfy capris and a t-shirt. I put curl gel in my hair and let it dry naturally. I’m shocked when I look at my phone and see it’s almost 10 in the morning. I haven’t slept in this late in a long time. I’m still tired, but my stomach is grumbling, and the desire for food is outweighing my need for more sleep.
Downstairs, my dad is sitting in his favorite chair reading the paper. “Good morning,” I mumble as I walk toward the kitchen. Beth doesn’t usually cook breakfast on the weekends, but I notice a pan of cinnamon rolls on the counter. I pull a piece off one, and I’m about to take a bite when Ford and Jack come into the kitchen. I can tell immediately by the looks on their faces that something is wrong.
