Chapter 24 #2
“Totally. Don’t we all do it to some extent? Or at least feel pressure to. As you said, it’s part of the cost of admission for community. But everyone’s allowed a night off. Even you,” I said.
“So you’ll stay?” he asked, his puppy dog hopefulness making a no impossible. Even if I had wanted to leave.
“Only if you’re sure you want company. Honestly?
I’m just so proud of you for taking the night off that I won’t be offended if you want to be alone.
” There was another part of me that worried the rumor mill was churning after the scene I’d made at the fire.
Was that why he didn’t want to go out? I was the first person that he’d been linked with since Kaylee.
Maybe he wasn’t ready to field questions about “us,” whatever that might mean.
“I want you. To stay. If that’s allowed for the cure,” he said. Tension released from my shoulders.
“Oh, yeah, one to two people is okay. So long as you don’t have to try around me.”
“Nah. I feel more comfortable with you than I feel alone.” He rubbed at his chest again. “You don’t mind hanging out here, doing boring things? Even if we aren’t checking things off your list?”
“Are you kidding me? This is what I live for!” I brought my excitement levels back down when I realized I’d shouted. “I thought you’d never ask. We’ve been playing to your strengths before, but now it’s my time to shine.”
His smile was so wide and real that it was almost as though I was seeing it for the first time. The power of his relief was tangible. It about knocked me off my feet.
“Okay. Great. Where do we start?” he asked.
I looked between us. “First things first. We have got to get out of these jeans.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he immediately started to unbutton his. “Back in my wheelhouse.”
“No!” I held up my hands, trying to explain through my laughter. “We need comfy loungewear.”
“I don’t have—”
“Pj’s, Pace. Loungewear is a socially acceptable way of wearing pajamas out and about.”
“Ah,” he said with understanding. “Coming right up.” He raced out of the room with more excitement than I’d seen since I arrived.
I went to the kitchen to see what snackage we were working with.
Not thirty minutes later, we were sufficiently comfy-fied and sitting on the couch (opposite sides, sadly), trying to decide what to watch.
My jaw had dropped when Pace came back out of his bedroom and handed me an extra pair of flannel bottoms. I hadn’t thought Pace owned anything sluttier than his running shorts until he came out in low-slung gray sweatpants and a soft, well-worn band T-shirt.
I did my best not to stare.
My best was not enough.
“You pick the movie since it’s your comfort night,” I said, forcing myself to focus on the TV, so I wouldn’t continue to seek out outlines in the material of his sweats.
“What about that new indie flick from Harrison Evans? I heard it’s good,” he said.
“I love him. I’d like to meet him. Or any of the actors from Terraformative.”
Pace nodded his agreement as he searched for the movie.
“Oh, man. It’s on a streaming service I don’t have.” He frowned. “I usually watch stuff at the firehouse to kill time, so I don’t subscribe to anything here.”
“Remember the simpler times when we just had one company overcharging us? And now we have several.”
“Ah, back in the old days.”
“Too bad. I have it at home,” I said, putting Milk Duds and a handful of popcorn in my mouth.
“Let me use your log in,” he said.
I needed a minute to suppress my astonishment at his audacity. And, also, to chew and swallow without choking. It took a minute.
“Sir. That is a crime.” I pressed my hand to my chest, pretending to be appalled. “And you are a fireman, an exemplar of the perfect citizen.”
“Don’t you have that on the list?” He leaned closer to lower his voice as though somebody might hear.
“I don’t remember anything about stealing streaming services on there.”
“‘Break a minor law, one where nobody gets hurt,’” he quoted. Verbatim.
I blinked and felt my cheeks heat. For two people whose entire relationship was based on that list, it hadn’t come up that much recently. Especially not the exact verbiage. It made me all tingly to hear him recite it perfectly.
“Wow. It almost sounds like you had that memorized,” I said.
“I do. The whole list. Even the bits you struck out.” He gave me a cheeky little look. Cheekier than his running shorts.
“We don’t need to talk about that.” I looked straight ahead, fully aware of the blush spreading up my neck. “But fine. Even though this is just below marriage in the list of commitments people make to each other, sure, you can have my log in.”
After the ten-minute process of trying to use the remote to log in, we were finally situated.
It was long dark outside now. Somewhere, the town of Cozy Creek was playing with their massive gourds, but here Pace and I sat, each occupying an opposite end of the couch.
What would he do if I made an excuse to go cuddle up next to him? What would happen if I leaned into him for warmth? He could put his arm around me and then maybe lean over to kiss up along the column of my neck.
I shivered with my whole body.
Who was I? Thinking so boldly, not imagining the worst-case scenario.
Pace got up and grabbed a blanket that was folded on a small bench next to the TV.
I thought he’d been about to hand it to me.
Instead, after moving the food from the sofa, he flung it out and sat down next to me, spreading it over both our laps and sitting close enough that his entire side was flat next to mine.
We were close enough that I felt the brush of his thigh when he moved, and the heat sent electricity through me.
My heart began to thump wildly.
We shared the same air molecules. There were tiny bits of fabric separating his skin from mine and nothing else.
We were . . . snuggling.
Did he realize that every time he took a deep breath, the action caused the hairs on his arm to brush me? Could he possibly know just how aware of every movement and breath of his I was?
I had no idea what happened in the movie. I didn’t even care to retrieve the snacks. My mind was fixated on his every breath and shift.
He cleared his throat and put an arm on the couch behind my shoulders. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck were jolted by him, and I shivered again. I was far from cold, but Pace put his arm on me and tugged me into his side.
“Sorry, it’s so cold. Steal some of my body heat. I don’t mind,” he offered.
I couldn’t speak. I nodded and let myself melt into him.
Was this amount of touching normal for him? I felt like every system in my body was malfunctioning. I was aware of everything. Except for whatever was happening on the TV. The heat of him, the smell. The thumping of my heart that shook me so hard, he had to feel it too.
I wish there was a way to know for sure—aside from asking, because, yeah, right.
Did normal people do this? Did they talk and ask about each other’s feelings and whether there should be touching? Did they bring up the time they had their tongue in the other person’s mouth?
The fever that took over me when I was at the fire, and I had been so worried about him, that had been someone else.
I couldn’t find her now. She’d gone back into hiding, only sharing herself at the most inconvenient times.
I missed her now. I wanted to be brave and reckless.
I wanted to throw my body on top of Pace’s to see how we fit.
If I could harness the power of genuinely not caring what people thought, I would be unstoppable.
Maybe we all would. Maybe that was the trick to getting through this life.
Your happiness and success were directly proportional to how many people’s opinions you let dictate your actions.
If I could narrow it down to a solid five, I think I would be okay with that.
Instead of this massive collective of “them,” all judging and hating on me.
“Sophie?” Pace was turned toward me, head tilted to the side in curiosity. At some point, he’d paused the movie.
I could smell his soap; he was so near that I felt the cushion move as he shifted. I was tucked so near that turning to meet his gaze had our faces absurdly close.
Sometimes, I had these out-of-body experiences where I floated in the air above myself, seeing how surreal a situation was and tried to explain it to a former version of me.
Yes, you and Pace Leigh, Mr. August himself, are snuggling on the couch after a fiery make-out session last week.
“Hi. Yes. Present,” I said.
“Are you?”
“No, sorry. Not really,” I admitted. “I was thinking.”
“I gathered that when I didn’t see you blink for three minutes as you stared at the wall.”
“Sorry.” I blinked dry eyes and smiled.
“If you aren’t into this, let’s put on something else.”
“I’m very into this,” I said, not wanting a single thing to change.
“Were you thinking about the list?” he asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go with that.” I scrambled for a lie that was better than my internal crisis at his touch.
“I was thinking how I crossed things off the list,” I said.
“Really? When? Without me?” He sounded jealous? Hurt?
“Sort of. But because of you, so it’s like you were there.”
His brows pinched together.
“Where is it?” I asked.
He went to where his wallet and keys sat in a little basket near the door. I regretted sending him away, as his absence left me shivering and on edge.
But he was back to his same spot a second later, tucking me even closer to him. When he handed me the note, I looked at it in wonder. It was well-worn at this point, almost hard to read. He had used a different color pen to put a check next to the tasks completed.
“Pen?” I asked.
He produced one seemingly from thin air, and I spoke out loud as I went. “‘Compliment a stranger.’”
“What? Who?”
“Hang on,” I said, focusing on the list. I knew there was another one. “‘Help a tourist.’ Two birds, one stone. I drove on the freeway. Technically, the frontage road, but still.” My hands shook as I got closer to the item we’d both been avoiding.