Chapter 16 #2
“I’m not going to freak out,” I mumble, despite the fact that I’m already freaking out inside, my heart rate kicking up gears. I hold my breath as I wait for him to continue, scared he’ll say something to ruin this moment.
Please don’t wreck this.
“Would you want to come upstairs?” he asks carefully, his eyes searching mine. “It’s warmer up there, and we can share the bed.”
“Wes,” I warn, pulling out of his arms. A violent shiver wracks my frame as I immediately catch another chill.
He holds his hands up in front of him. “No funny business, I swear! It’s a totally innocent offer.”
I don’t even have to think about it, alarm bells ringing off in the distance. I know they’re meant to protect me. To keep me safe.
“I can’t,” I say quickly, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Ivy,” he says, and I can hear the frown in his voice. “I just feel bad that you’re freezing your ass off down here.”
“I’ll be fine.” I sit back down on the couch, still not looking at him. “You should go back to bed.”
He doesn’t budge. “Are we okay?”
“We’re good. Everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure? Why won’t you look at me?”
I force my gaze up, grinding my teeth to keep them from chattering. My eyes roam over his, lost in the openness and sincerity of their dark depths. What if he’s telling the truth?
Don’t be an idiot.
“We’re great,” I say. “You should get some sleep.”
He seems reluctant to leave but finally murmurs a quiet goodnight, retreating up the stairs.
Tears well in my eyes the moment he’s gone, but they’re not tears of sorrow.
They’re tears of frustration, directed at myself for not being a normal girl, one who would jump at the chance to share a bed with the hottest, most beloved guy on campus.
They’re tears of anger at myself for being a coward, for being unable to trust, for being so fucked up in the head that I have no clue what to believe anymore.
Huddled in the dark on Wes’s couch, I comb through my memory for a single thing he’s done that would paint him as dishonest. I dissect every interaction we’ve had and every good intention I’ve read on his face.
I search for evidence that would condemn him as untrustworthy, but I come up empty-handed.
There’s nothing, except for the fact that he’s a guy.
Isn’t that enough?
Maybe.
But what if I shouldn’t accept that?
What if not every guy is…him.
I turn the idea inside out and upside down until I’ve had enough. Until I can’t debate it anymore. Until I won’t debate it anymore.
Leaving the blanket across the arm of the couch, I use my phone light to guide my way up the stairs, my socked feet soft against every step.
I stop outside Wes’s bedroom door, unsure if I should knock or text him to see if he’s still awake.
Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob, surprised when it opens easily. I always sleep with my door locked.
I step over the threshold and ease the door shut before directing my attention to the man sprawled on his stomach across the bed.
Despite the temperature, he’s got the comforter pushed down to his waist, a thin, white t-shirt the only protection for his skin against the cold.
His head is turned toward me on the pillow, but his eyes are shut, his breathing even. I shiver again and step closer.
“Wes,” I whisper, before I can rethink this inane plan. I reach out and lightly touch his shoulder.
His eyes snap open, and he gives a couple unfocused blinks. When he registers my face, his own lights up, and he smiles lazily.
“Hey, Ives. Change your mind?”
I nod, having difficulty with the words right now. He doesn’t ask questions or give me a hard time for being indecisive. He simply nods and rolls over to the side of the bed closest to the wall, leaving me the spot he just occupied.
I slip under the blanket, sighing at the warmth of the mattress, radiating his body heat. I adjust the pillow, and then sink down below the comforter, tugging it up to my chin. My teeth continue to chatter with a chill I can’t shake.
“Still cold?” he murmurs. I glance over to find him on his side, facing me in the bed.
“A little,” I whisper.
“Would you want to cuddle? Just to warm up? I’m a furnace, remember?”
Before I can fully process his question, I’m scooting across the bed into his open arm and snuggling up against his side.
Tentatively, I rest my head on his strong shoulder, conscious of the way our bodies are touching, the front of mine pressed to the side of his from my chest down to my socked feet.
I’m not sure what to do with my right arm, so I lay it cautiously over his stomach, feeling his abdomen contract at my touch.
My head rises with his chest as he inhales, then lowers as he releases a slow, satisfied sigh.
I feel his chin rest on the top of my head and his hand flex once against my arm, but that’s it.
He doesn’t suggest anything further, and before I know it, his breathing evens out, signaling that he’s fallen back asleep.
And the crazy thing is, breathing in his scent, relishing in the heat of his body, I feel… safe. Relaxed. Content.
As much as I try to fight the exhaustion, I can’t. He’s too comfortable, too warm. I don’t remember when exactly I fall asleep, but it’s deep and restful and perfect.