18. Willa
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WILLA
M y bedroom is bright when I wake up, which is weird .
I never sleep in. Once I blink clarity into focus, Trevor shifts around me.
Literally. I’m curled into him, my head tucked under his chin, my arms wrapped around his waist while his encircle me completely.
The nightmare started again last night, and I don’t know if I reached out first or he did, but the warmth that spread through me as he enveloped me in his arms stopped everything.
I woke up just enough to hear his heart beating and settled my head against it, holding on tightly until I drifted back to sleep.
“You up?” Trevor asks, rubbing my back.
I nod against him but make no attempts to move.
As annoying as it is to admit, snuggling with him like this feels good.
I’ve never been big on cuddling in past relationships.
The men I’ve dated stayed pretty hands-off unless we were having sex.
I’m not against it, as evidenced by the way I’m pressed up against this man in my bed, but it never seemed necessary.
Now that I know he’s awake and still holding me, my heart thumps wildly.
This is couple behavior . Too close—too intimate.
His fingertips run up and down my spine in soothing passes, while his other hand anchors at my waist. We’re welded together where his warm skin meets mine, as if melting into his touch has always been inevitable.
It calms my racing thoughts enough for me to stay put, but not enough for me to resist bringing it up. “Is this weird? This is weird, right?”
“Not for me. I’m all for cuddling. Friends can cuddle.”
“Yeah, okay ,” I mock, propping on my elbow as I adjust away from him. Not so far that we’re no longer snuggled up, but just enough to feel like I’ve got some sense. Of course it’s not weird for him. Mr . Touchy Feely loves cuddling . Who would have guessed ?
“They can.”
“What kind of friends cuddle, besides friends with benefits?”
“Us.” He shrugs and sweeps a few twists over my shoulder, just staring at me.
I’m waiting for a smile to signal his playfulness, but it takes a beat longer than I’m used to.
His eyes peruse my face, mapping a trail of longing that makes the tips of my ears burn.
My gaze drifts down to his lips as I recall how incredibly soft they were skirting over my skin.
No , ma ’ am — not going there . Blinking rapidly, I will the logic back to my brain.
I shouldn ’ t be staring back at him like this .
I shouldn ’ t be lost in his golden eyes flecked with green .
We’re not compatible, and these damn hormones are messing with my mind.
Clearing my throat, I sit up, his arms falling away. I need to change the subject.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He smiles. Finally .
“You talk about therapy so casually. Telling people doesn’t bother you?”
“Nope. I’ve been going for so long; I can’t imagine life without it.” He sits up and stretches his back against the headboard. “Everyone needs help sometimes, and I like the unbiased view.”
“I’ve been going for a year but still haven’t told anyone.”
“It’s not anyone’s business,” he says. No prodding. No advice. Just a nonjudgmental shrug that makes me want to spill my guts .
“The whole reason I started was a little embarrassing. Admitting that I don’t have it all together isn’t easy for me, so it feels safer to keep it to myself, you know?”
A slight crease settles between his eyes, but he doesn’t ask me to clarify. “If someone’s going to look down on you for improving your quality of life, they’re not someone worth keeping around.”
Maybe that’s what gets me—his willingness not to pry—because I surprise even myself when I tell him about my ex. “After being cheated on for the third time by the same guy—Carter—I figured it was time for an outside opinion on what my problem is.”
“Relatable.” He looks down and nods. “If it helps you feel less alone, my ex, Marla, cheated on me too. I’ve had maintenance appointments every few months for the last several years because of it. Keeps me on track.”
I’m speechless. Partly from the way he talks about therapy, like it’s an old friend he meets for lunch when they’re in town at the same time.
But also because—who would cheat on the all-American, always there for you, wouldn’t hurt a fly superhuman?
Those qualities translate well into a relationship.
Why would someone throw that away? And of all the things, why is this the one we bond over?
I’m tempted to ask what happened, but the way his face has fallen gives me pause.
“Well, look at us.” I nudge his leg with my foot. “We found something in common.”
He chuckles, and by the time he looks back at me, the sullenness marring his face is replaced with a smirk. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night. I’ll get out of your hair.”
He flips the covers off his legs, and the loss hits me in the chest as if the wind is knocked out of me.
The closer he gets to the door, the more my heart races at the thought of him leaving.
I bite my tongue with the admonishment that this is not a thing.
We spend time together for the baby’s sake.
That’s it. We don’t spend the night and snuggle and bond over failed relationships .
Except we just did . And I enjoyed every second.
When he reaches for the doorknob, I can’t stop myself.
“You could stay…if you wanted to. I have toiletries in the guest bathroom, and we could eat breakfast and?—”
“You don’t have to convince me to stay, Jim.”
I growl . “Okay. New rule: stop calling me Jim . Wills is fine enough. Even Will. But Jim makes me sound like a basic-ass side character from a sitcom.”
Trevor tilts his head, face twisted in confusion.
He’s quiet as his eyes scan around me, and then he hisses out a laugh.
This man slumps against the door, laughing so damn hard he can hardly keep himself upright.
I’m pretty sure those are—yep. He’s wiping fucking tears from his eyes.
How calling me Jim is so funny to him, I’ll never understand, and this is what I mean.
I don’t get his humor. We’re not compatible.
“Willa…” He wheezes, tipping his head back against the door frame.
“I—” Another laugh rips from him, and he covers it with his hand.
“Shit, no wonder you’re always giving me stink eye.
” His chest heaves, stifling titters while he struts back to the bed.
“Willa, I haven’t been calling you Jim .
I’ve been calling you Gem , like a jewel. ”
“Gem? Why the hell are you calling me Gem?”
“Gems in the ocean,” he says with a bright smile.
“Is that a song or something? I’m confused…”
“A few years ago, after Chase and Kayla’s wedding, you told me about the history behind Crystal Beach—how the ocean transformed the glass.
It stuck with me. And the more time I spend with you, the more facets you reveal.
” He reaches down and tweaks my nose, snorting as I jut my head back in surprise.
“After that revelation, I’m convinced. You’re precious, Gem, and I refuse to believe otherwise.
” Trevor lets one more chuckle slip before he turns and walks from the room, calling out, “I’ll stay for as long as you want me to. ”
The bathroom door shuts down the hallway, and I collapse on my pillow.
For years I’ve been so irked by him calling me Jim , sometimes avoiding him in annoyance.
I thought he was doing some juvenile grade school teasing, but never once considered he was saying something else.
Something completely cute and sweet. Something that has me biting my lip as butterflies trample all over my reasons not to like him.