Chapter 22
Morgan
Rory is stiff as a board next to me. My arm is along her shoulders and I can feel the tightness in her muscles.
And are you surprised that this makes me want to mess with her?
Of course not.
I’ve still got her hand in mine, and I set them both in my lap. I tap along to the theme song of the TV show, messing up a few times because I’ve never heard it before. We picked a sci-fi comedy, and a few minutes in I’m laughing at the dry humor.
Rory barely cracks a smile.
“Oh come on, that was funny,” I say. I shake her hand, wriggling her whole arm.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
We watch as the main character saves people from a giant alien and then reveals himself to be Alexander Skarsg?rd.
I poke her side. “He’s not hotter than me, right?”
Rory rolls her eyes. “Do you always talk while watching something?”
“Yes,” I deadpan. “Princess loves it. We share the same opinions about almost everything but she thinks Squid Game 2 is better than the original.”
Rory shakes her head, but against me, she relaxes a bit. I keep up my commentary until Rory bites her lip and turns away, hiding her laughter.
When the episode is over, Rory’s sagged against me. We watch another, until I catch her covering her mouth and yawning twice during a high-action scene.
At the end of the episode, I click the TV off. “Time to hit the hay.”
And just like that, Rory tightens up again.
Her grandmother comes out to say good night and Princess retreats to her bed while Rory and I take turns in the bathroom, passing each other carefully with Rory avoiding eye contact.
When I emerge, clean and wearing a T-shirt and boxers, Rory’s curled up on the far side of the bed, scrolling on her phone.
Without looking up, she says, “That’s your side, right?”
I flop onto the bed, making her bounce. “Yup.”
Her shoulders are up around her ears and she’s curled in on herself. My little prickly hedgehog.
I turn off the light and pull the covers up. I stare up at the ceiling and realize I’m not tired at all. I’m on a night owl schedule, while Rory probably has to be up early in the morning. As if proving my point, Rory turns her phone off and shifts onto her back.
The wind has picked up, and I spend a few minutes listening to the rustling of the trees outside and Princess’s light snoring.
When I glance over at Rory, she’s awake too, staring at the ceiling. I liked the closeness on the couch, feeling her relax under my arm. We’re back to square one now, though, so I’m going to have to start all over.
I shift to lie on my side. “Truth or dare?”
Rory blinks in surprise and looks at me. “What?”
“Truth or dare,” I repeat. “Come on, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a sleepover with a friend. So let’s play a game.”
She sighs, but even in the low light coming from the window I can see the twitch of her lips. “Dare.”
“Hot damn. Let’s do this right. Okay.” I sit up and rub my hands together. “Show me your best dance moves.”
Rory lies there for a moment, and then rolls off the bed. I reach over and turn my bedside lamp on and shove back to sit against the headboard. Princess raises her head from the bed in the corner, and then huffs and rolls onto her side, ignoring us.
On her feet, Rory shakes her shoulders out, and then takes a deep breath. First she shimmies her shoulder, then her arms swing up and over her head. Then her fists pump, her hands fly, she twirls and struts, all while she’s completely deadpan.
When it hits me, I burst into laughter and she stops dancing to shush me.
“Is that the Wednesday Addams dance?” I gasp.
She flops onto her back on the bed. “Yes. I was obsessed with that show.”
“Because you don’t have anything in common with Wednesday Addams,” I drawl.
Rory ignores my sarcasm and rolls over to prop her chin on her hands. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I say immediately.
“Sing a song you know all the lyrics to.”
I immediately burst out into a quiet rendition of Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You.” I overexaggerate crooning, putting a hand on my heart and closing my eyes.
Rory snorts. Swear to god, snorts.
By the time I finish the song, she’s got her face in her pillow to muffle her laughter. I flop down next to her. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she says.
This one’s harder to come up with, and I think for a minute. “Who was your first celebrity crush?”
“Oh no,” she groans, and hides her face again in the pillow. The bed shakes, and I gasp.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
She totally is. There’s that laugh I’ve always wanted out of her. Too bad I can’t see her face, but I bask in the sound until it dies out and she’s just stalling. I poke her sides until I hear a muffled “Nick Jonas.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. “But . . . but . . . I look nothing like him.”
Rory extends a middle finger in my direction.
We play like this for a while, Rory muffling her laughter in the pillow, in the half-light of the bedside lamp and the dark recesses of the room. By unspoken rule, we alternate truths and dares.
Rory flashes the dead quiet street outside the window, and that little bit of side-boob I see gets my heart racing.
I show her my last three Google searches and have to explain why I searched Spin Doctors lyrics (I had an ear worm and couldn’t remember the chorus) and “toes smell like corn” (not mine—Princess’s).
At some point, we hear Mrs. Patterson get up and use the bathroom. It’s my turn, and Rory looks down at me. “Truth or dare?” she asks, even though she knows it’s time for a dare.
“Dare.”
A wicked smirk curls her lips. “Make sex noises.”
I sputter.
“What?” Rory points at the wall shared with the bathroom right behind my headboard. “She’s the one who invited herself to stay with a freshly engaged couple. She’s making us share the room tonight. Don’t you think that’s deserved justice?”
“Oh my god.” I flop facedown onto my pillow. “You are going to hell.” It’s muffled, but I’m sure she gets the point.
“Grandma and I will tag team hassling the devil himself. Come on.” She bounces the bed next to me. “Do it, do it, do it.”
“Fine, fine.” I take a deep breath and push myself up onto my elbows. Rory can’t stop giggling, and for that alone, I’ll do it.
I thrust my hips, and there’s a definite squeak and a thump. It’s not bad—I’ve obviously had sex on this bed a lot, and if I was in danger of damaging the wall or the furniture I would have made adjustments—so I think this will actually work.
I thrust my hips again.
Eek-thump. Eek-thump. Eek-thump.
Rory goes quiet next to me. I close my eyes and build up a rhythm.
Eek-thump. Eek-thump. Eek-thump.
This is not what I pictured my first night with Rory in bed with me like. I wanted to be naked. I wanted to be inside her, with my dick, or my fingers, or my tongue. I wanted her screaming my name.
I don’t know what makes me open my eyes again—does Rory’s breath hitch? Does she move? Or is it some imperceivable shift in the air?
Whatever it is, I look over and meet Rory’s wide eyes.