Chapter 11
Pen
I'm on my back, hands on my stomach, staring at the ceiling.
I pull up the covers all the way to my neck.
A long time ago, I fell prey to the standard teen experience of gluing small, fluorescent star-shaped stickers up there, but they barely glow anymore.
Old furniture surrounds me, though we got rid of my desk to make room for a slightly bigger bed.
Now only the two dressers stand to one side and the window to the other.
Sleep evades me. I'm trying really hard not to get on my phone. My brain needs a chance to process everything.
Imagine it, Pen. Picture what you want our wedding to be like.
My chest tightens. Butterflies take over my belly. It's a good thing I know all of this is adrenaline getting pumped into my system, or I might start thinking things I shouldn't. Like marrying my best friend may be more than a pact and an agreement.
Well, no. It's more likely that I'm reacting to how busy the next few weeks will be, if we want to pull this off at all.
It all stops when my door handle opens slowly. I expect my mom to make an appearance, and my eyes go to where her head should appear. Only they end up traveling upwards, when Leon shows up instead.
I raise my eyebrows but say nothing. If I get a little breathless, that's just because I'm surprised.
He closes the door and approaches the bed slowly.
He wears an old white shirt with his college team logo on the chest, and old training shorts.
Both have faded and, if I touched them, I know they would feel infinitely soft.
The Henley cut at his neck lets me see the start of his tattoos and a small tuft of hair that disappears into the fabric.
In my mind, I follow ink and light fur to his wide chest and torso, or down his heavily tattooed arms. His belly is comforting, and his thighs thick, and—
I shouldn't be looking at him this way.
"Do you need something?" I whisper.
I stay under the covers and gaze up at him.
"I take it this isn't fulfilling one of your bucket list items," he grumbles.
"What?"
"Having a boy sneaking into your room."
I gulp. It's time I recover.
"Who says that's never happened?" I say.
He looks shocked and I laugh. It helps.
"Relax, Papa Bear. It never happened."
"I didn't ask."
"And you're way too much of a man to fulfill the dream of a boy sneaking in."
Standing tall next to my bed, hands on his hips and a stern frown directed my way, he really looks all grown. As a teen, I did imagine it— from anyone, not Leon in particular of course. Once I swore off love, I didn't consider it at all.
"Was it your fantasy, Bear? Is that why you're here?"
It makes me tingly to think.
"I did sneak into someone's bedroom once because yes, I wanted to be one of those teenagers."
I groan. It's my fault for teasing him like that.
A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. "But never. Ever. Did I do it as a man. It's not why I'm doing this now either."
"Right." I clear my throat. "So?"
"We need to sleep together."
Mild panic has me sitting up. Blankets roll down, revealing my tank top.
"Sleep together," he insists. "Not a euphemism. Your mom gave me a short, sweet talk downstairs. She ended it by suggesting we should finally sleep together now that we're… engaged."
Two of his fingers tap on his hip. The line between his eyebrows remains. His gaze is locked on me.
Fuck, I'm getting cold. That's why my nipples harden, I'm sure.
I clear my throat. "We don't need to do it just because she said so."
"I can go back downstairs if you don't want me to sleep with you." He nods. "We can say the bed was too small."
The bed is queen-sized. We're big people. We'll be tight.
He gives it a dubious look, while I get tingly all over. We'll be so close together, biology will act up for sure.
Well, whatever. It's just biology.
I shrug and pull back the covers. "Get in already. It's cold, and we need to make them believe it's really real. So real. The realest it's ever been."
He gawks. "You're in your underwear."
I gaze down my thick hips and thighs, like I don't know what I'm wearing. Trying to see things from his point of view, I imagine him noting how all that skin is only interrupted by a simple light blue patch of fabric. It's the only thing I'm wearing alongside my tank top.
For as long as we've been friends, we have avoided seeing each other in underwear. Many reasons probably exist. Now we're sleeping together on a small mattress, him in his very soft clothes and me in a lack thereof.
"See all these blankets?" I ask like it's nothing. Like I need to explain myself. "I made myself cozy."
"This isn't how you typically sleep."
"It is when I don't expect anyone to see me."
Even back at the camping grounds, I put on shorts on top of my underwear.
"Please get in," I add. "Nothing's going to happen. We're adults. The rest— whatever— bodies do weird things sometimes."
"Hmm." He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves it on the side table.
I pull the blankets away some more.
"We need to convince them we're in love." He purses his lips and gets in. "If this were real, I wouldn't want to stay away."
Ugh, more adrenaline injected into my bloodstream.
It doesn't get better when I feel the warmth radiating off his body, and the full height of him at my side.
It's been years since I've shared my bed with anyone and suddenly I'm craving skin-to-skin contact.
My heart quickens. He shifts until he finds a good position and, each time the mattress moves with the force of it, it knocks away some of my resistance.
"God, you're like a furnace," I say.
It's not a complaint, even if it sounds like one.
He glances at me. "I thought you're a cold sleeper."
"I am, but there's a range of perfection."
I sit up again and take a couple blankets off.
"Ah," he says. "You meant a picky sleeper."
"Hey!" I chuckle and throw myself back, head to the pillow. "You're the one sneaking into my bed. Show some respect."
The short hairs of his leg tickle mine. A shiver runs up my spine. I consider creating much needed distance somehow, but he moves away and crosses his legs at his ankles. It doesn't create a lot of room, but enough.
Is it weird that in all these years, we've never actually shared a bed?
We're affectionate in so many ways. This doesn't have to be weird. Just a new way to be comfortable with each other.
I turn to my side. "I guess this is our new life now."
His rugged profile, with his slightly crooked nose and thick beard, is fitting for a lumberjack living off the land deep in a Norwegian forest somewhere. His deep blue eyes stare up at the ceiling, and I wonder if he's looking at my little plastic stars, too.
"At least while our parents are around," he says.
"I guess we need to tell your parents we're getting married, too."
"I hope they can come. It's going to be a sudden trip for them."
"Surely they'll do anything they can to be here for your wedding? They don't know it's not going to last."
"Our wedding," he whispers. "And you know how they are. If work allows…"
"They'll try. I'm sure they'll try."
"They will." He sighs. "So we'd have to fake it around them too."
"Not so much around our friends… but maybe my coworkers? The club? The Thunderdome at large, when it's time to go for camps and training, etcetera?"
"I'll start calling you my fiancée."
From hazy neurophysiology classes, I'm pretty sure norepinephrine is also part of the cocktail flooding my system. I'm kind of high from it and my best friend's proximity. His size. His presence in my bed.
At this rate, I doubt I'll ever sleep.
I gulp.
"You know," he whispers, "with the time difference, we could call my parents now. They're probably getting ready for the work day."
"If you want to, yeah. We should, right? If we wait too long…"
He gazes at me. "I don't want them to get hurt. Like we forgot to include them."
I sigh. "Getting realer by the second."
He smirks and lifts an arm up high in invitation. "All right. Let's do it then. Get in here."
He's asking me to cuddle up to him.
He raises an eyebrow. "We need to look convincing."
"I suppose," I say and come close.
Despite everything, this part feels natural.
I put my head on his shoulder and my hand automatically finds a spot on his chest. His arm curls around my shoulders and I know it's technically impossible, but it's like he put his smell on high.
It envelops me, erasing the heightened response I've been battling, and replacing it with whatever makes muscles melt.
I sigh. Pheromones are powerful, too. In the best way. His in particular? Ten out of ten.
He grabs his phone with his free hand. "If you're going to struggle too much with all of this, we may need to come up with a different way to look deeply in love."
"No, no, I can do it." I tap his padded pec. "It's not that different from how we already act. Maybe just a bit more… intense? I don't know, you're the expert in these things."
He doesn't immediately respond as he navigates his phone.
He's focused on his screen as he responds. "It's more… couple-y. For sure. It moves the line closer to romance than friendship. In my opinion."
His voice is deep and gravelly. It rumbles under my ear.
I chew on my lip. "People have always said we act like a married couple so it's fine. Just a little more umph. The rest is just…"
His finger hovers on the green button that will get the call through. He raises an eyebrow at me.
It takes more effort than usual to lift my shoulder like I'm unaffected.
"We have nerve endings and senses that might react," I say, "but we know better. We just need to remember that."
"So you keep reminding me," he grumbles, and presses his phone.