Or kiss some more.
I don’t say that.
I still have migraine brain and I can’t do the mental gymnastics about why we shouldn’t kiss or why it’s a bad idea, especially when it felt so right. But I do worry that if I don’t go back to sleep soon, the migraine may not go away.
Miles comes back to bed and sits on the edge, weaving his fingers into my hair and rubbing my scalp.
“Oh my god, that feels so nice,” I mutter.
“What else do you need before I go?”
My heart seizes at his words. I don’t want to be alone. I thought he was going to stay. I open my mouth to say as much, but stop myself.
What if he wants to go? What if he doesn’t want to be here? I already ruined his Saturday evening. And if he wanted to stay, he would. Right?
But I want him to stay.
“You look like you’re going to say something,” he says. “Say it.”
“No, no, it’s okay. You should go.”
“We’re not doing this. You’ve got something to say, so say it. You cannot say the wrong thing to me, Abby.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, wanting desperately to pull the covers over my head and hide until he leaves. But he’s scratching my scalp in a way that feels so nice, and I am still so weak from the migraine. I don’t even know if I have the energy to fight my own demons.
His hand stills and starts to move away, but I catch it, holding it in place against the side of my face. I crack open my eyes to look at him, my pulse racing.
“Stay.”
It comes out as a whisper, but it comes out. I said it. I asked him for what I wanted. Maybe not in as many words, but I did it.
His eyes soften around the edges, a smile dancing on his lips. “You want me to stay?”
I shake my head up and down.
He presses a kiss to my forehead and leaves my side, walking toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Gonna get some sweatpants, so I don’t have to sleep in jeans,” he says.
“Oh. Um, you can just—I mean, you don’t have to if you just want to sleep in…whatever is…under that.”
“As long as you’re comfortable.”
Silhouetted against the slivers of light in the room, he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons and unzips his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. I grip the blankets, watching as he reaches behind his back and pulls off his shirt, tossing it on top of his jeans.
He slides into the bed, under the blankets, and hooks a hand around my stomach, drawing me into him.
“Come here,” he says. When my back is nestled against him, he places a soft kiss on the back of my shoulder. “I didn’t want to leave. I just didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I know I ruined your Saturday night. I didn’t want to ask you to give me more time than you already did.”
“Abigail Ashe, there isn’t another place in the fucking world I’d rather spend my Saturday night than by your side.”
“Holding my hair while I puke?”
“Best part of the night.”
