24
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of waves outside the window and the occasional car in the parking lot below.
“I’m going to sleep,” she says, tucking herself under the blanket.
I take that as my cue to turn off the lamp and get into my own bed. Now we’re in the dark, and I’m staring at the fucking ceiling because that was the best kiss I’ve ever had. And I don’t know if she really wants to sleep or if it’s just awkward now.
I should let her sleep. I should respect that she said she’s going to sleep and pretend I can actually fall asleep with her six feet away from me, looking like that, after everything we just did to each other.
It’s not even ten minutes in, and I can’t help myself.
“What if this didn’t have to end? What if we just... kept going?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then I hear the bed shift. “You want to keep going?”
“We can do it however you want. However it works for you.”
“That’s not fair for you. We need to talk about it and figure it out together.”
I roll over onto my side so I can see her silhouette in the dark.
“What if you could keep your place in LA and just visit me when you can?” I offer.
“That’s not a relationship, West. That’s a really expensive booty call.”
“It’s whatever we want it to be.”
“You’re not thinking this through. What about your life? Your schedule? I have an entire life in LA. I love watching your nieces and being around Tessa. Not to mention consistently being away from my parents isn’t going to be good, I’m their only stability.”
“Do you want this? With me?”
Another beat of silence, and each millisecond that passes eats at me. “Yes, I do.”
“Then get over here,” I mutter.
She laughs. “You come here.”
I drag myself out of bed and crawl onto hers.
“You’re so big,” she says as I lay next to her, untucking the sheets of the nicely made bed with my long legs.
“That’s what I like to hear,” I joke, and she pushes me. I grab her hand and pull her body into mine. “Come here.”
She snuggles her back against my chest. My heart is racing rapidly.
“I’ll do anything to get you to say yes,” I murmur into her hair. “To give us a shot.”
She pats my hand. “I don’t leave until the eighth, and then I’ll see you for the third wedding, right?”
“Right,” I say.
“Okay, then it’s settled. We’ll figure it out.”
I kiss her hair, and the room falls silent.
For the first time in weeks, I’m feel at peace.
Because she said we’d talk about it. That we’d figure it out.
I wake up at six-thirty to orange light streaming through the hotel window and the sound of Liv breathing softly next to me.
She’s still asleep, curled up on her side facing me, and for a moment I just watch her. The way her hair falls across her face. The way her mouth is slightly open. The way she looks peaceful in a way I’ve never seen before.
Last night happened. We kissed. We talked. We decided to stop pretending, to figure out how to move forward.
And now I’m lying here at dawn, watching her sleep, and I’m pretty sure I’m more gone than I was twelve hours ago.
I slip out of bed quietly and pad over to the window. The ocean stretches out endlessly, painted gold and pink by the sunrise, and I try to make sense of what I’m feeling.
I thought the kiss would settle something. Thought finally touching her, finally knowing what it felt like to have her want me back, would ease some of the tension that’s been building for weeks.
Instead, I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
Because the kiss wasn’t enough.
Not even close.
I want more. I want everything. Not just her body, though I want that, but her. Her thoughts, her time, her terrible jokes, her way of making coffee in the morning, her dances when she thinks no one’s listening.
I want her flip-flops by my front door and her shampoo in my shower and her voice arguing with me about what to watch on Netflix.
I want ordinary Tuesday mornings and lazy Sunday afternoons and the right to reach for her whenever I want to.
The coffee maker in the corner of the room is one of those fancy hotel ones, and I manage to figure out how to make two cups without waking her up.
“Mmm,” she says from behind me, voice thick with sleep. “Is that coffee?”
I turn around, and she’s sitting up in bed, hair everywhere, squinting at me like I’m too bright to look at directly.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Morning,” I say, walking over with her cup.
“Morning.” She takes the coffee and wraps both hands around it. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Bad dreams?”
“Good dreams. Too good.”
She looks at me over the rim of her mug, and something passes between us. Recognition. Memory. The weight of everything that changed last night.
“So,” she says after taking a sip. “That happened.”
“Yeah. It did.”
“Any regrets?”
“None. You?”
“No,” she says quietly, and that warms my chest.
I sit on the edge of my bed, facing her, and try to act normal. Like I’m not hyperaware of every movement she makes. Like the fact that she’s wearing those silk pajamas isn’t making my brain short-circuit.
“What time do we need to check out?” she asks.
“Eleven. We could grab breakfast downstairs if you want.”
“That sounds good. I’m starving.”
“Good. Me too.”
We’re being so normal. So casual. Like last night was just another conversation instead of it changing everything.
But I can see it in the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. The awareness. The new knowledge of what we are to each other now.
It’s driving me insane.
An hour later, we’re packed and checked out and back on the road toward Seattle. The drive should take about four hours, and I’m already dreading every minute of it.
Because Liv is sitting next to me in a sundress and denim jacket, looking like summer personified, and every time she shifts in her seat, her elbow brushes against mine.
Every brush sends electricity straight to my brain.
“Music?” she asks, reaching for her phone.
“Sure.”
She puts on something mellow and perfect for road trips, and we settle into conversation about the wedding, the drive, what we want to do when we get back to Seattle.
Normal conversation. Easy conversation.
Conversation that completely ignores the fact that what I really want to talk about is how we’re going to make this work. I want to know if I can see her again without the excuse of the wedding. I want to know if she’ll sleep in my bed, wear my shirts, or kiss me again.
“You’re thinking,” she observes somewhere around the two-hour mark.
I don’t reply because she’s right.
“What are you thinking about, West?” she asks softly.
I inhale because it’s a hundred thousand thoughts at this point. I can’t burden her with that.
She says, “You get this little line between your eyebrows when you’re thinking hard about something.”
I look in the mirror, and she laughs.
“Right there.” She reaches over and touches the spot between my eyebrows with her index finger.
The touch lasts maybe two seconds, but it might as well be a lightning bolt.
“See?” she says, settling back in her seat. “You’re thinking about something. Really hard.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Tell me what it is, West,” she pleads.
I glance at her, and she’s looking at me with genuine curiosity, like she actually wants to know what’s going on in my head.
“You,” I say honestly. “I’m thinking about you.”
“What about me?”
“Everything about you.”
“Like what?”
“Us,” I answer.
She’s quiet for a moment, studying my profile while I focus on the road. “Last night was... good.”
“Good?”
Her smile is wide, and I see her cheeks start to pink. “Really good.”
“So good that you want to keep doing this, right?”
She hesitates, but then she nods, and I’m relieved. The car falls silent, and I don’t think it’s the right time to talk about this, so I turn up the music and awkwardly grin at her.
We get back to my house around three in the afternoon, and I carry her bag while she goes to the kitchen to get water.
“I’m going to unpack,” she calls out.
“Take your time.”
I should probably unpack too. Should probably do something productive with the rest of the day.
Instead, I change into workout clothes and head to my home gym, figuring maybe I can sweat out some of this restless energy.
It doesn’t work.
I try lifting, but I can’t focus on form or reps or anything except the fact that Liv is upstairs in my house, and we’re not pretending anymore, and I have no idea what comes next.
I try running on the treadmill, but that just gives my brain more time to replay every moment from last night on loop.
I try stretching, but every position reminds me of how she felt pressed against me.
After an hour of the most useless workout of my life, I give up and head back upstairs.
I find her standing at the island, looking through takeout menus, and she’s changed into shorts and a t-shirt that somehow looks better than the sundress.
“Hungry?” she asks without looking up.
“Yeah.”
“Thai or Chinese?”
“Whatever you want.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“Thai.”
She orders while I lean against the counter and try not to stare at her legs. Or her mouth. Or the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating.
Try and fail.
“Food’ll be here in forty-five minutes,” she says, hanging up.
“Okay.”
She licks her lips and then bites them. “So, what did you do while I was unpacking?”
“Worked out.”
Her eyebrows raise like she’s impressed. “Good workout?”
“Terrible workout. Couldn’t focus.”
“Ah.” She clicks her tongue.
“Yeah.”
We’re standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, and the space between us feels charged. Like there’s electricity in the air.
“Liv?” I murmur.
“Yeah?” she says softly.
“Come here. You’re too far away.”
“Should we take things slow?” she asks.
“This is slow,” I answer. “It’s slower than what I want to do.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Really?” She walks around the island slowly, deliberately, and when she’s close enough to touch, I reach for her.
“What do you want to do?” she dares to ask.
“Everything,” I admit.
She smiles in my arms. “Like what?”
I start laughing, still holding her close. “Uh, I don’t think you want to know. You just said you want to take things slow.”
She puts her hand on my chest and says, “I do, but I want to hear what you want.”
I laugh again, looking up at the ceiling. The things this girl does to me. “Okay,” I smile. “One, I want to kiss you.”
“Yeah? And two?” she smiles.
“Two, I want you to sleep in my bed.”
“What about your luxurious guest bedroom?” she asks, concerned. “That bed in there will be awfully lonely.”
“Three,” I roll my eyes at her teasing. “You really want to know?” I question, afraid to say this one aloud.
She nods, searching my face. “Yes. Just say it.”
“I want you to move in.”
“Move in? Are you insane?”
I laugh. “Four.”
“There’s a fourth?” she teases.
“I want you to stay longer. Don’t leave on the eighth. Stay longer.”
She looks at my mouth. “I can’t.”
“Do which one?”
“I can’t stay longer. I haven’t thought about moving in, but I’m okay with number one.”
I sweep her off her feet, and she squeals.
“What about number two?”
She scoffs. “Excuse me, Mr. Carmack, are you trying to sleep with me on our first date?”
I stare at her. Really stare. She’s beautiful. Her eyes glimmer. Her brows are thick. Her cheeks are adorable. Her lips? Shaped from heaven. Her nose is pointy with a perfect arch.
I lean in and kiss her nose.
She pulls back. “You are?”
I pull her closer to me. “I would love to sleep with you, Liv, but I know you want to take things slow, so it’s okay. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“But you want to?” she asks.
“I want to when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” she says, leaning into me. “If you think I’m the one, I’m excited to see how long you can wait for me.”
I try to protest, but she quiets my mind with a kiss. A long sweet kiss. One that I don’t get lost in for too long.
When we break apart, she’s smiling.
“I’ll sleep in your bed tonight, but I’m not sleeping with you,” she whispers.
I smile, kissing her cheek. “That’s fine by me.”
Later, after we’ve eaten Thai food and watched half a movie and she’s gone upstairs to shower, I’m cleaning up the kitchen when I see her flip-flops by the front door.
Small. Pink. Completely ordinary.
But they’re in my entryway, next to my shoes.
I stare at them for a long moment, and I feel something in my chest expand and tighten at the same time.
If I can’t convince her to move in with me, I’m doomed.