47. Kendra
Kendra
I’m weak.
Eli is my weakness.
His strong arms pull me closer in his sleep and I relax into him; his warmth and sandalwood soap lulling me back into a hazy comfort I should get up and run from but can’t escape.
I don’t want to escape.
Laying here with him in this moment feels easy, but this isn’t reality. That snake is waiting, hidden in the grass, ready to strike and sink its fangs deep, leaching poison into the small bubble of make-believe I have landed myself in.
“I can hear you thinking,” Eli grumps. “It woke me up.”
Laughing, I say, “I’m so sorry. You know you could have gone and napped in your own room, in your king-sized bed, Hulk.”
“You are not in that bed, so pass.” Eli kisses my temple, and I relax even further into him.
“Eli, what are we doing?” I sigh.
“We’re napping. Then we are going to go have dinner at my mom’s house—she’s making lasagna, your favorite broccoli salad, and Sarah’s in charge of dessert.
I reallllly hope she makes her mini cheesecake donuts that are freaking bomb.
You’ll love them. Then we will bring Wren home, do her nightly routine, and after, hopefully, make out on the couch.
” Eli peppers kisses up my neck, which is so distracting, and nips my earlobe.
And that’s exactly what we do . . . because Eli is my weakness, and I can’t let the snake of my own making strike my heart yet.