Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I pace in my bedroom. There will be a rut in the carpet by the time Adam comes back from the shower.
One of us will probably decide to sleep on the floor. It will—should—be me, since I created this mess in the first place. If I’d stuck it out today, been more patient instead of taking matters into my own hands, I would have been here to shut the window when it started raining.
But the thing about taking matters into your own hands is sometimes your hands aren’t big enough to hold all the problems.
I perch on the bed; there’s no sense in getting comfortable. I don’t even think it’s possible. This is firmly my fault, and I know the second Adam comes through my bedroom door wearing pajamas and his stupid little sleepy-time socks, it’s time to face the consequences.
There’s a blanket draped over his arms, and he doesn’t pay me any mind as he unfolds it. He fans it out over the floor, then grabs a single pillow from my bed and drops it on the ground.
Throwing me a nasty glare, he lowers himself.
“Wait.” I stand before I’m sure my legs will support me. “I’ll take the floor. You can have the bed.”
“No.” His voice is firm on the tiny word, but fatigue still seeps through. His shoulders sag. He worked a complete shift today, and since the second he clocked out, he’s been dealing with my bullshit. I won’t win this fight.
But I can pick a different one.
“We’ll share,” I say. “It’s a big bed.”
His jaw clenches. “Not big enough.” The cords in his neck stand out in the dim light. “The hotel is still an option. The Elkhart Inn has two stars.”
“And two cockroaches.” I throw the covers back and crawl in. “Be an adult about it. It’s only one night.”
“Yeah,” he says faintly. The floor creaks beneath him. “Because that worked out the first time we said it.”
When I was fifteen, I pushed my bed against the wall to have more space in my room. What it means for sharing said bed, though, is that the person on the left-hand side is effectively trapped, forced to either climb over the other person or do acrobatics and crawl out at the bottom. I hope I don’t have to pee tonight.
Adam shakes his head, giving in with a heavy sigh. Maybe he’s out of energy to fight anything else today too. He sits on what is now, effectively, his side of the bed. There aren’t a lot of extra inches to fiddle with.
Getting comfortable quickly proves impossible. Every time I shift, some part of me touches him, and whenever he adjusts in response, I fight to keep from rolling into the hard side of his body. Maybe it’s time for a new mattress.
“You know,” I say, scrolling mindlessly on my phone, “I thought you’d try to strangle me before you willingly got back into bed with me.”
“Keep talking.” Our legs brush under the covers, and I clench my teeth to keep from biting him. “I’m strongly considering it.”
“Quit,” I hiss when his foot nudges mine.
He scoffs. “I’m not even touching you.”
I punch my pillow and pretend it’s his face. “What are you, five?”
Every nerve ending is alive in my body, screaming Danger! His smell is too strong after his shower, clean clothes and spicy skin. I scratch my nose and am rewarded with a sharp exhale.
“Can you not—move so much?” he says through his teeth.
“Sorry for being itchy.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll try to do that less. Totally my fault.”
“You have this amazing tendency to boil my blood,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.” I swear I hear a molar crack. No telling whether it’s his or mine. “And you’re welcome.”
He huffs in answer, and I spare a glance in his direction. Moonlight comes through the gaps in the blinds and stripes his face. He’s staring at the ceiling. His hands are clasped loosely over his abdomen, on top of the blankets. I try that, but I still can’t settle. My skin is crawling.
I can see him in my periphery; maybe that’s the problem. With a huff, I flip to face the wall and continue scrolling.
“Done now?” he asks smugly. His fake smile is burned onto my brain. It’s on the wall in front of my face, behind my eyes when I shut them.
This will be the longest night of my life.
I’m surprised to wake a few hours later, considering I didn’t think I’d fall asleep at all. There’s no good reason for me to be up. The house isn’t burning down and there aren’t any earthquakes rattling the foundation or the mattress. Based on the twilight filtering through the window, dawn is still hours off.
I listen for Lovie, other noises in the house, but nothing. Everything is quiet, still. I yawn, nestling further into the bed to try to reclaim the sense of peace I just came from.
Something twitches low on my stomach, pressed possessively beneath my sweatshirt, and I arch into the movement. This is a waking dream, one of those nights where you toss and turn, convinced rest will never come, only to realize in the morning it did. Sleep fights to bring me back down, and I could let it, with how warm, how comfortable I am. I give in to the tug along my limbs, relaxing my sore muscles and slowly sinking into the feeling. Cotton fabric rubs my feet, and I rub back. That’s nice. My feet were cold, but now they’re not.
Stop moving , someone in my dream mumbles, a mouth close to my ear. A nose skims the skin beneath it. A butterfly’s touch, soft enough that trusting yourself is the only way to know it was there for certain. Can’t sleep with you squirming all over me like this. Another butterfly lands on my stomach, in my stomach, as a hand curls around my hip and tugs. I nestle further into it, scooting my hips back.
I must flex under that gentle yet greedy touch, because it flutters again, harder against my skin. A don’t move sort of gesture.
Stay , someone says in my dream.
I hum a contented, “Fine.”
A rough groan.
My eyes fly open, and those butterflies in my stomach turn to stones. I was not dreaming. Adam’s hand flexes under my sweatshirt again, his nose buried in the hair at the crown of my head. And—yes. My ass is cradled in his lap.
“Adam.” I grab his arm, shaking violently. “Wake up.”
I look over my shoulder, and as his sleepy eyes find mine, the hold on my body tightens. Hips shift. Fabric rustles. My mouth falls open, a long exhale escaping. It dips up at the end, a moan.
He rips his hand away and untangles our feet—because those were entwined too. “Sorry.”
I flop to my back and scoot over until my hip bumps the wall. “I’m pretty sure I was a willing participant.” I’m talking louder than I need to, if only so he can’t hear the way my heart thuds.
“Yeah. Well.” He rolls over. A throat clears. “Good night.”
“Night,” I say, though I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep again. As Adam’s breathing slows, I stare at the wall and wiggle my toes, trying to figure out why they’re suddenly so cold.