Thirty-Nine
I stare at the ceiling, lamplight casting soft shadows on crisp white sheets, and wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.
The night keeps replaying in my head, looping like a broken record I can’t turn off. Daniel. The pool. The anger burning through me so hot I could barely see straight. Nathan stepping between us, solid and steady, his presence the only thing keeping me from spiraling.
Now, hours later, I’m still wide awake, my pulse too fast, my mind refusing to settle.
When we got back to the suite, Nathan kept looking at me like he was waiting to find something—an injury I hadn’t mentioned, a bruise I was hiding. He scanned me over, his gaze sharp, his expression unreadable, like he wasn’t convinced I was really okay.
“I’m fine, Nathan,”
I had told him, brushing past him toward the bedroom. “Really.”
He didn’t believe me at first, but I just wanted to forget about it.
Eventually, after what felt like a full body scan, he let it go. I changed into pajamas, and when I finally emerged from the bathroom, the tension had eased. We settled into easy conversation—small talk, stupid jokes, anything to pull me away from the weight of the night.
Somehow, we ended up laughing. Like really laughing.
Nathan, of all people, had me doubled over, clutching my stomach, tears in my eyes. I don’t even remember what started it. I think it was something about Grace’s grandmother and how Nathan nearly choked on his drink when she smacked her husband’s ass at the rehearsal dinner. It spiraled from there. He had this look on his face, a mix of disbelief and reluctant amusement, and I couldn’t stop teasing him about it.
Which is when I blurted it out. Right there, between gasps of laughter, I confessed the one thing I never planned to tell him.
“I wrote into a dating podcast before I met you.”
He had been mid-sip of his drink. He froze, glass hovering inches from his lips, before lowering it slowly. “You what?”
I groaned, pressing my face into a pillow, already regretting it. “Forget I said anything.”
I was obviously possessed.
But there was no chance of that, so I told him everything. I told him about the email I sent. I even let him listen to it because he had never even heard of the Skeptically In Love podcast. Weirdo.
He just stared at me before shaking his head and laughing under his breath. “Jesus Christ. This just keeps getting better.”
I hid my face as he kept pushing, kept grinning like he’d just uncovered my deepest, darkest secret.
Maybe he had.
For once, I didn’t care.
I wasn’t thinking about Daniel, or the pool, or the way my heart still pounded from the confrontation. I was just here, curled up on a couch, trading secrets with a man I had no business enjoying this much.
That should’ve been my warning sign.
Instead, I soaked it up.
Now, hours later, I’m paying the price because every time I close my eyes, I’m still thinking about him. About the way he looked at me, the way he laughed with his whole body. About the way he tipped his head back, exposing his throat, looking so at ease in a way I don’t think he ever lets himself be.
This is a problem. A big one.
Nathan is supposed to be a business arrangement. A short-term fix. Not someone I stay up all night thinking about.
I roll onto my side, hugging my pillow tighter. My body won’t settle, and my mind won’t stop spinning.
Worst of all? He’s on the other side of those doors, probably sleeping like a baby while I lie here wide awake, overanalyzing everything.
A frustrated groan escapes me. If I’m not sleeping, it’s only fair that he suffers too, right?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I shove off the covers and pad across the plush carpet. My pulse skitters as I crack open the bedroom door, stepping quietly into the dim living area.
Moonlight filters through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the couch.
He’s sprawled out, one arm draped over his eyes, the other across his chest, long legs taking up most of the cushions.
He shouldn’t look this good sleeping. It’s unfair.
Am I really about to wake him just because I’m losing my mind?
I linger anyway, because he looks so…soft. Like the weight he constantly carries has finally lifted. He looks younger without that hard edge.
My heart clenches in a way I don’t understand.
“Don’t be creepy and watch me sleep, Sienna.”
I jump, hand flying to my chest.
His voice is thick with drowsiness, muffled from where his arm still rests over his eyes.
“Or at least warn me first.”
“Jesus, Nathan. Ever heard of playing dead?”
He shifts slightly, stretching so his muscles flex. “I tried, but I think even in death those eyes would find me.”
I roll said eyes, folding my arms over my chest. In the faint glow, he finally drags his hand down to see me better.
“I can’t sleep,”
I finally admit like a petulant child, and before he can respond, I climb his body, finally resting on his chest.
He groans. “This is not normal.”
“What isn’t?”
I shoot back, struggling to keep my voice steady.
He gestures vaguely between us. “You and me. This. It’s crossing a line.”
A dozen protests flutter in my chest, but I settle on a smirk. “You’ve already kissed me,”
I remind him in a low murmur, ignoring the swirl of heat that memory evokes. “And…other things.”
My cheeks burn. “Besides, I never got my post-sex cuddles. I’m cashing in.”
He exhales, but his arm loops around me, pulling me snugly against his side. My stomach twists with nerves. We lie there in tense silence for a few minutes, breathing evening out. The tension drains from my body, replaced by a sleepy warmth.
Nathan eventually shifts beneath me, enough that I can’t fully settle. His grip tightens as he tugs me into his arms, standing from the couch and taking me with him. I yelp, fumbling to cling to his shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“You have an entire bed, woman,”
he mutters, heading into the bedroom. “If you insist on clinging to me like a spider monkey, I’d prefer we have actual space.”
I gape at him, half-laughing, half-scandalized as he sets me on the mattress. “Oh, well, thanks for the courtesy ride, I guess.”
He hesitates a beat before climbing in beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. My pulse stutters. We’re in the same bed, no couch buffer, no doors in between us.
The room is silent, but my head doesn’t spin with anxiety. The tension in my shoulders melts away. Because right now, I’m warm, I’m safe, and I’m not alone.
I close my eyes, inhaling the comforting scent of him. We might be crossing every line we drew, but I’m too tired to resist. He’s here, and for tonight, I let that be enough.
Tomorrow, I can freak out all over again.