Chapter 13
HARPER
Hot.
That was the first thing I felt as I slowly woke. The second was that I was trapped. A weight was holding me down, overheating me like a furnace set to “inferno.”
For one brief, confused moment, I couldn't remember where I was.
The bed was too soft, the sheets smelled wrong—or right, depending on how you looked at it—and there was another person breathing beside me, their chest rising and falling against my back in a slow, steady rhythm as their arm held me close.
Then everything came rushing back in a flood of sensation and memory.
Connor's porch. The kiss. His hands on my waist. Being carried upstairs like some kind of romance novel heroine. His bedroom. His bed. His—
Oh god.
We slept together.
My eyes flew open, and I stared at the unfamiliar cream-colored wall in front of me, adorned with a framed photograph of mountains I didn't recognize and a dresser that definitely wasn't the one in the guest room.
I was in Connor's room. In Connor's bed.
Naked.
With Connor's arm wrapped around me like he had every right to hold me this way.
Well. This is either the best decision I've ever made or the worst. Jury's still out.
My heart started pounding as my brain helpfully began cataloging all the ways this could go horribly wrong.
In the darkness last night, with Connor's voice rough in my ear and his hands on my skin and his body moving with mine, it had all made perfect sense. Had felt inevitable. Right.
But now, in the unforgiving light of morning streaming through windows I'd never woken up to before, reality was creeping back in with all its complications.
What if when he woke up, he realized what happened and regretted it? What if it was some weird adrenaline response to Felix asking me out? When would he realize he slept with his homeless, broke, disaster of a friend?
Connor's arm tightened around my waist, and I felt him shift behind me. His breath changed, no longer the deep, even rhythm of sleep.
“I can hear you thinking,” Connor's voice rumbled against my back, rough with sleep and unfairly sexy for this early in the morning. “Whatever you're spiraling about, stop.”
I went very still. “I'm not spiraling.”
"You're absolutely spiraling. Your whole body just went rigid." His hand splayed across my stomach, warm and grounding and sending little sparks of awareness through me that were really not helpful right now. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"
Everything. Nothing. "I just…" I hesitated, trying to figure out how to articulate the mess in my head without sounding completely insane. "What happens now?"
The words hung in the air between us, and immediately I wanted to snatch them back. Shove them down my throat and pretend I hadn't said anything. I pressed my lips together, my whole body going tense against him.
God, Harper. Way to sound desperate.
What happens now? Like we were in some kind of relationship negotiation.
Like I was one of those clingy women who had sex once and immediately started planning the wedding.
He was probably already regretting this and trying to figure out how to let me down easy without making things awkward since we shared the same friend group.
I should've just enjoyed the moment. Not ruined it by being needy and pathetic and—
"Now?" He pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder, and the casual intimacy of it made my breath catch, interrupting my spiral of self-recrimination. "Now I make you breakfast. But first, you need to look at me."
I couldn't make myself turn around and face him and whatever expression might be on his face.
Probably regret.
“Harper.” His voice was firmer now, gentler but with that edge that meant he wasn't going to let this go. “Please.”
I forced myself to roll over, clutching the sheet to my chest even though it was completely pointless at this point. He'd seen everything last night. Touched everything. Had learned every inch of me in ways that made my face heat just thinking about it.
But morning felt different. More exposed. Like all my defenses had been stripped away along with my clothes.
Connor was propped up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression that was soft and concerned and completely focused.
His brown hair was a disaster—from sleep, yes, but also from my hands.
Stubble shadowed his jaw. The sheet had pooled at his waist, leaving his chest bare, and I could see the marks I'd left on his shoulders last night.
Evidence of what we'd done written across his skin.
Oh god, I mauled him.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi.” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “So. Um. That happened.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “That happened.”
“And you're not…I mean, you don't…” I gestured vaguely between us, trying to find words that didn't make me sound like a complete mess. “This isn't some huge mistake you're already regretting?”
“Harper.” He cupped my face with one hand, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Last night wasn't a mistake. You being here in my bed? This is what I want.”
“But I'm living in your house because mine burned down. I have a loan shark threatening me. I don't exactly have a lot to offer you except problems and really awkward morning-after conversations.”
And apparently the ability to kill any romantic moment with a brutal assessment of my life choices.
He kissed me, cutting off my spiral with lips that were gentle but insistent enough to shut my brain up for a blessed few seconds.
“Stop,” he murmured against my mouth. “Stop trying to talk me out of wanting you. It's not going to work.”
“I'm just saying, you could do better than the broke, homeless woman who's currently borrowing your t-shirts.”
“Harper.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his face serious in that way that had always made my stomach flip. “I've wanted this for six years. That doesn't just disappear because you're going through a rough patch.”
The certainty in his voice made my throat tight. “I'm scared. Of messing this up. Of losing you. Of this being some temporary insanity we'll both wake up from.”
“Then we'll be scared together.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “But I'm not going anywhere. Can you trust that?”
Could I?
I looked at him, really looked at him. At the man who'd driven through the night when my apartment burned.
Who'd taken me in without a second thought.
Who'd made sure I ate and slept and felt safe even when I was falling apart.
Who'd sat on his porch in the freezing cold waiting for me to come home from a date with someone else, then kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered.
Who'd carried me to his bed last night and made love to me like I was something precious instead of a disaster on two legs.
“Yeah,” I whispered finally. “I can trust that.”
His expression morphed into something warm as his eyes softened. “Good.”
“So…what now? Do I sneak back to the guest room? Pretend this never happened? Write you an awkward thank-you note?”
He laughed, actually laughed, and the sound made something warm bloom in my chest. “You're ridiculous.”
“I'm practical. There's a difference.”
“You're panicking.”
“Also accurate.” I gestured at the room, at us, at the general situation. “Connor, I don't know how to do this. The morning after. With you. When everything's so…”
“Complicated?”
“I was going to say 'weird and terrifying,' but complicated works too.”
“Then we figure it out as we go.” A slow smile spread across his face, the real one that crinkled his eyes and made my heart do stupid things.
“But first…” He glanced down at where the sheet was clutched to my chest. “You're still naked in my bed.
And I'm having a very hard time thinking about breakfast when you look like that.”
Heat flooded my face. “Connor Whitaker, are you trying to seduce me before coffee?”
“Is it working?”
“That depends. How do you feel about women who haven't brushed their teeth yet?”
“Harper.”
“I'm just saying, morning breath is a real thing and I'm pretty sure mine could strip paint right now—”
He kissed me, cutting off my rambling with a thoroughness that made my toes curl and my brain short-circuit. This was different from last night. It was less desperate, more leisurely, like we had all the time in the world, and he intended to use every second of it.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless and possibly slightly dizzy.
“Tell me you regret last night,” he murmured against my lips.
“I can't. I don't.” The admission was a surrender. I let go of all my carefully constructed defenses and allowed myself to just feel. “But I do regret not having a toothbrush handy.”
“There's one in the bathroom. Brand new. I have extras.”
“Of course you do. Because you're annoyingly prepared for everything.”
“Not everything.” His hands started to wander beneath the sheet. “I wasn't prepared for you.”
My stomach growled, loud and embarrassing, completely killing whatever romantic moment we were having.
Connor pulled back with a laugh. “Okay, message received. Food first.”
“I'm sorry, my body has terrible timing.”
“Don't apologize for being hungry.” He climbed out of bed, completely unselfconscious about his nakedness, and I definitely didn't stare. Much. “I'll make pancakes.”
“I’ll get dressed. My clothes are in the guest room and I should probably—”
“Wear mine.” He grabbed sweatpants from his dresser and pulled them on, then tossed me one of his t-shirts. “I like you in my clothes.”
The casual possessiveness in his voice sent warmth spreading through my chest. I pulled on the soft gray cotton shirt that hung to my thighs, drowning me in fabric that smelled like him.
This is fine. This is totally normal. Just wearing your sort-of-boyfriend's clothes after sleeping with him in his bed after living in his house because yours burned down. Nothing weird about this at all.
Connor was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. “What?” I asked.