Chapter 36 – Kat
THIRTY-SIX
KAT
My body feels like Jell-O—like actual Jell-O.
I’m not sure that I’ve ever been quite this exhausted. Spent doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Twilight seeps through the blinds, casting a subtle shadow over the messy bed. I fight against the heavy weight of sleep and find myself tangled in sheets and Tanner’s limbs. His strong arm is wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to his warm body. I know I should leave and go back to my own bed, but it’s so comfortable here. I remind myself that this is just a physical arrangement between us, but it’s hard to resist staying for a few more moments of blissful rest in his arms.
Just move, Kat, I order myself. Right now might be great, but what about in a few hours when we wake up? What about when morning fully comes and we’re met with the realization that we didn’t just sleep together, but actually slept together ?
After having sex, things are even more complicated and confusing than before. The memory of him inside me makes my thighs clench together, and the lingering soreness serves as a constant reminder that what happened between us cannot be undone.
The most terrifying part is that I’m not even sure I want to undo it.
Something shifted between us, and I can’t help but think about what comes next.
Except for the fact that what comes next is me getting out of his bedroom immediately.
Gently I wrap my fingers around his wrist to lift his arm so I can slip away, only for him to tighten it around my stomach. My bare stomach.
Oh my God, we’re both still naked. We must have passed out immediately afterward.
Fuck. Me.
I try to move his arm again, but Tanner holds firm, the heat from his body enveloping me in a calming cocoon.
“Nope,” he mumbles against the back of my head. “You’re not leaving. This is part of the deal.”
“I need to go to my own bed.”
“Nope.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like him simply saying it’s not happening suddenly makes it so.
I make one last attempt to pry his arm away, but he’s hard as steel.
“Kat,” he huffs, clearly irritated. “ Please stay in here. Just for tonight.”
“It’s practically morning.”
“And you can leave in a few hours, but for now just let me hold you.”
Tanner Adler doesn’t plead; he doesn’t ask women to stay the night. From what I’ve heard, he seldom stays the night with the women he beds. It is taking everything in me right now not to read too much into that, but given the past year, I can’t let myself impose meaning onto a man’s words.
If it meant something to him, he would have told me—we made a deal. Just sex, no feelings. That’s what we agreed upon.
Yet he’s so warm. My bare back against his torso as he curls around me is probably the most comforted I’ve felt in years and, even though I know it’s best for both of us if I go, I can’t find it in me to deny him exactly what he wants.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Tanner presses a light kiss to the back of my head before letting out a sated sigh.
Comfortable and warm, we both drift back to sleep.
When the morning sun blasting through the blinds is impossible to ignore, I rub my eyes, wiping away any remnants of sleep as well as the mascara I forgot to wash off last night. It all happened so fast that I didn’t even think to remove my makeup—luckily I wasn’t wearing very much of it.
I yawn as I look around the room, which looks different cast in the warmth of the morning sun. I can finally make out the words scrawled on each cardboard box stacked against the wall: “Art Supplies,” “Bedding,” and “Books” are just a few that catch my eye. Stretching my arm across the bed to rouse Tanner from his slumber, I feel only cold sheets.
At first I think he may have just gone to the bathroom, but based on how cold it is, I know he’s been gone more than a couple minutes.
A familiar knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. I knew I had been right to want to stay in my room. This was just a casual hookup, but even knowing that, part of me yearns for something more. The realization that he grabbed his shoes and left without a second thought washes over me as I pull the blanket to my chin. My chest feels heavy with sadness and I can’t shake the feeling that I was just another fleeting encounter for him.
We’re friends—friends don’t have to tell each other when they’re going somewhere, so why should Tanner? It’s unfair for me to hold him to a standard completely at odds with what we’re doing, yet I can’t stop thinking about what this could mean for us.
Tanner is one of my best friends. Did I really just manage to ruin that over a single night of great sex? I was so worried about Tanner knowing that this is just sex that I forgot to remind myself.
I push the blankets off of me and search for my clothes from last night, finally finding my tank top and pajama pants fanned out haphazardly on the floor. Quietly, I sneak back over to my room and sit down at my desk, suddenly thinking about the one thing that could distract me from whatever this is with Tanner.
The letter from my brother sits on top of my desk. I’ve decided to write him back, but what does someone say to the brother they’ve never met, let alone the brother who was the reason your dad left?
Am I supposed to be like “ Hey man, don’t sweat it, it’s not your fault you ruined my life ”?
Because really, it isn’t his fault. From the sound of it, my dad wasn’t so great to him either .
My hand trembles as I reach to grab a pen and the spiral-bound notebook out of my backpack.
A firm knocking echoes through my bedroom, making me jump and let out a small yelp. I hear Tanner’s deep laugh from the other side of the door, his presence unmistakable even before he speaks. Frustrated, I groan and try to focus on the paper in front of me, refusing to acknowledge his presence just yet.
“Kaaaat,” he says in a singsong tone.
“Come in,” I call out. I’m so not ready to have the conversation about how last night shouldn’t have happened, but even I know it’s necessary for the sake of our friendship. I also know his attempts at getting my attention will just get more and more outrageous the longer I ignore him.
The old door squeaks as it creaks open.
“Hey,” Tanner says, his voice raspy and relaxed, his hair disheveled. He looks perfect. The asshole always looks perfect.
“Hey,” I sigh, then realize he’s holding a drink carrier with two large coffee cups as well as a small white paper bag, the kind you’d get at a restaurant.
“Why’d you come in here?” he asks, setting the carrier and bag on the edge of my desk.
“You left, so I figured I should come to my own room.”
“I went to get coffee?—”
“Look, if you regret last night, I get it. We can just pretend it ne?—”
“Kat.”
I hate the way my body reacts to the stern tone of his voice, the way every nerve comes alive.
“I went to go get coffee,” he repeats. “I had to go to the place downtown because Brendan decided the creamer in the fridge was ‘close enough’ to half-and-half for him to make White Russians last night. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.”
“Oh.”
“And since I know you are incapable of drinking coffee that isn’t at least fifty percent creamer and a quarter sugar, I thought it best to just go pick us up some.” His previously serious expression melts into a soft, comforting smile. “No, I don’t regret last night. Do you?”
“No,” I mumble.
“Good.” He reaches into the carrier and extracts a steaming cup, placing it gently in front of me.
The smell of rich hazelnut instantly envelops my senses, confirming that he remembered my usual order. I can’t hide the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth as I read the label: Hazelnut latte, extra hot. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Now, what are you working on?”
“I was thinking about writing my brother back.”
Tanner nods in understanding as he opens the bag, setting one of two chocolate eclairs on a napkin next to the paper. “What do you think you’re going to say?”
I realize that beyond saying hello, I have no idea what to say to Patrick. How do you write to the brother you’ve never met who didn’t know you existed until he was the ripe old age of twenty-one?
“I…don’t know.”
Tanner pulls a chair up next to me and we spend the next hour working together to craft a letter.
A letter to which even a man with the same name as the father who has never wanted to know me might want to write back.