Chapter 23 #2
“How about this,” I say carefully, as I watch for his reaction to what I’m about to suggest. “We can both sleep in the bed.” Surprise fills his eyes, and before he thinks that I’m begging him to sleep with me, I add, “Look, we’re both adults, perfectly capable of controlling ourselves.
” I give him a wry grin. “Besides, I know you’re not interested in me like that. ”
Frustration fills his eyes, and he takes my hand. “Finley, I didn’t—”
“Alex,” I say firmly, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, and honestly, it’s actually reassuring. This way there’s no confusion.”
There’s no denying it could get messy and complicated, but I can’t deny that I’d be open to… more. At least to myself. Which is humiliating considering he made it very clear this morning that sleeping with me is the last thing he wants.
But I’m a grown woman, and I’m perfectly capable of controlling myself. Besides, the last thing I’d ever do is throw myself at a man who doesn’t want me. I’m not sure I could bear more mortification.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “You’re perfectly safe from me taking advantage.” He says it in a teasing tone, but his eyes don’t sparkle like they have all day when he’s joked around.
He slips the blanket off our laps and nudges the ottoman away with his foot before standing. Then he turns to face me and holds out a hand. “It’s time for my Georgia peach to go to bed. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”
I reach out, and he pulls me up with a little more strength than I expect. I stumble, and his hands catch my hips, steadying me. Our chests brush, and I look up at him, the firelight flickering on his face.
“I’m not very graceful,” I say with a nervous laugh, trying to bury the ache rising in my chest.
“I’m not complaining,” he says, his voice low, his gaze locked on mine
The tension between us hums—so real I can almost feel it against my skin. If I hadn’t overheard his conversation with Roland this morning, I might think he was about to kiss me. It’s ridiculous.
Except…it doesn’t feel ridiculous.
Before I can decide what to do, he lets go of my hips and takes my hand instead, leading me to the entryway. When he drops it at the staircase, the loss of contact feels sharper than it should.
What am I doing? The Alex I’ve gotten to know on this trip is a paradox—snobbish and arrogant one minute, sweet and thoughtful the next. He’s a contradiction I can’t seem to figure out. And worse, I’m starting to want to.
But the sweet part of him has to be real, right? Still, a part of me is terrified it’s just another layer of the act—because it’s easier to keep pretending, even when no one’s watching, than to turn it on and off. And if it’s true, I’ll end up looking like a fool for falling for it.
So why do I want to fall for it anyway?
When we walk into the bedroom, I say, “Why don’t you get ready for bed first? I suspect you’ll be faster than me.”
He grabs a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt out of his bag and heads into the hall, leaving the door open. I pull out my pajamas and stare at the stack of bags in the chair, probably Alex’s way of making sure I don’t sleep in the chair, as though I couldn’t just move them to the floor.
He walks back into the room about five minutes later and says, “All yours.”
I go into the bathroom and get ready for bed, and when I return, Alex is sitting up in bed, reading a book that looks like a boring business tome.
He glances up and scoots closer to his side of the bed.
Not that I have to worry about him encroaching on my side.
There’s a bulge under the covers—it looks like two pillows lying lengthwise down the middle of the bed.
When he sees my gaze drift there, he says, “I made a wall.” He pauses. “Like the Great Wall of China.”
“You think you need to keep out an enemy?” I tease, my mouth dry. I’m already nervous about getting in bed with him.
“It’s to protect you,” he says adamantly. “In case I accidentally reach for you in the middle of the night.”
I nod, still looking at the bed.
“I can sleep somewhere else,” he says, misunderstanding my hesitation. “I don’t plan on mauling you. It’s in case I don’t realize what I’m doing while I’m asleep.”
“I’m not worried, but it’s a good idea,” I say as I walk over to my side of the bed and slip under the covers.
Alex sets his book on the nightstand and turns off the light, plunging the room into darkness. We lie in silence for nearly a minute, and I keep myself plastered to the edge of the bed. Touching Alex came so naturally today. I’m worried I’ll try to spoon him in my sleep, pillow wall or not.
“Thank you for a wonderful day,” I say softly into the darkness.
He doesn’t answer for several seconds, and I wonder if he’s one of those people who fall asleep within seconds of their head hitting the pillow, but then he says, “I had fun.” He pauses, but then adds, “More than I’ve had here in a long time, so I feel like I should be thanking you.”
“We’ll just form a mutual gratitude club,” I say, then cringe, thankful it’s dark, and he can’t see my embarrassment.
Mutual gratitude club, Finley? Really?
He chuckles. “Which one of us is president?”
“Me, of course,” I say, relief spreading through me that he’s playing along. “It was my idea.”
“Okay, Madam President. Does that make me vice president?”
“Only if you want the title,” I say, relaxing. “There are other offices to fill.”
He laughs, and we fall into silence again, only this time it’s more comfortable.
“Good night, Finley,” he says, his voice warm and soft.
“Good night,” I say, smiling to myself. Alex might not be my boyfriend, but I think I can confidently call him my friend. And for now, I call that a win.