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I watch her in the dark sleepily as she sits on the bed. My heart hammers at the fact she doesn’t slide back in. I’ve been enjoying spooning her since we fell asleep. I stirred a few times but kept my arms wrapped around her.
I feel her weight shift a little and I sit more upright.
“Hart?” I whisper as she looks over at me in the moonlight. She’s even wearing my fucking shirt, as it appears she’s been out of the room to gather her clothes off the balcony and is attempting to leave.
“Yeah?” she whispers back.
“What are you doing?”
“I had to pee,” she says.
I chuckle. “Come back to bed.” It’s an intimate gesture, but I don’t want to let her go. Not yet.
“I should go,” she whispers. “I didn’t intend to sleep here.”
I reach out for her hand and tilt my head. “What’s a couple more hours?”
She kneels on the bed and crawls toward me.
Oh, this woman.
I smile in the darkness. Happy to have a few more hours before we say goodbye.
And I know we have to. But why does it suddenly feel like the hardest thing in the world? I swallow it down and pull her into my arms as she slides back under the duvet.
There’s time for disappointment later when she’s gone for good.
8
Grayson
“What’s with my shirt?” I say, as I pull her into my arms, sliding it off her body at the same time.
She snuggles back into me and again, I’m taken aback by how intimate we’re being as strangers. But it feels so organic and natural. I wonder if she feels it the same way I do?
“It was the closest thing to throw on outside while I collected all of our clothes,” she whispers.
I chuckle. “Scared of flashing the neighbors at this hour?”
She laughs too and presses her hand on my chest.
“Were you gonna sneak out on me?” I ask pointedly.
“I would have left my number.” The words hold her promise, even if I can’t see her eyes in the dark.
“Promise?” I double check as I squeeze her around the middle and she giggles against me.
“I promise.”
“Do you want to do this again sometime?” I ask outright. Please fucking say yes.
“Are you in New York very often?” she asks.
I’m glad she’s not saying no.
“Not much,” I say. “You?”
“Not much either. But it isn’t far from Boston.”
