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“Don’t act all coy, Drew. You came to the city to be a model. It’s not like you don’t know what you look like.”
“So, what? You like showing me up?”
“I mean—I didn’t realize how much of a rise I was getting out of you. I figured you just thought I was an idiot and blew it off. I didn’t know I’d—” I shut myself up. I don’t want to presume anything.
“What?” he asks, though. “What didn’t you know?”
“That I’d gotten under your skin? Maybe?”
He huffs. “Yeah, well. You did.” He rolls onto his back, no longer glaring at me but staring at the ceiling instead.
I do the same, letting out a breath. “So, about what you said earlier. When we were talking about Elodie?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you stand by that right this second?”
“I might need to sleep on it. I was pretty—wound up.”
“Okay, yeah. Sure.”
The fact that his possessiveness from earlier could be waning disappoints me some. No one’s ever “claimed” me before. It was a turn-on in more ways than one.
I try to make myself comfortable on my side facing away from him, but it’s not how I normally sleep. Behind me, he’s breathing unevenly, like sleep hasn’t caught up to him yet either.
My mind keeps reeling back to the kiss I’d tried to take from him, and the way he jerked away. I can’t help wondering whether the rest of my life is going to be like this—wanting something I can’t have and having something I don’t want.
Since it’s obvious neither of us is asleep, I flip over to make myself comfortable in my usual sleeping position, dragging a pillow between my legs with a hook of an ankle. My toes accidentally brush his knee, but he doesn’t flinch away. He’s still looking at the ceiling, his arms now folded behind his head.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask. “You don’t have to sleep here—or I could even?—”
“I’m fine,” he mutters.
“Do you…” I let the words trail off. I was going to offer to suck him again, get him back out of his head and allow him to drift off to sleep. I’m not gonna say it would be a selfless act or anything. It would help me, too. To finally put an end to the tension that still seems to constantly crackle between us. At least for this morning.
“Hm?”
“Nothing,” I say, in an uncharacteristically shy way. Needless to say, I’m being introduced to many, many new aspects of myself these days.
“I’m not a very good cuddler,” he says like he thinks that’s what I’m angling for. “I’m not a hugger either. I have a big personal space.”
“Totally get it.” Although I am a hugger. And a kisser. And a cocksucker, too, apparently.
I was raised with a ton of affection—too adorable to resist, I’m told—and I depend on physical touch more than I should. It’s been difficult to be denied it by my parents, friends, and even Drew to an extent. The way he is willing to touch me fills one need, but it certainly doesn’t qualify as affectionate, and trust me, I’d never ask that of him. Especially after he reacted so strongly to my impulsive attempt at a kiss.
He sighs heavily. “That being said, I think I might like you a little closer if you’re willing.”
I blink in shock. Hesitation is probably flashing in neon over my head.
“You’ll just have to understand that if I shove you away at some point, it’s not you, it’s me.”
What is he saying? It almost sounds like he wants to snuggle up with me on this gray, depressing day. “But you’re offering?” I ask.
“I’m asking,” he says, surprising me again.
Me, being me, though, I say, “That’s a first.”
“Look, if you don’t want to…”
