He slides in behind me, curling up against my back and pressing his face up to my neck. His hands slide around my waist and pull me closer, and I’m not complaining, even though his skin feels cold after being under the blankets for so long.
“Alex? Are you awake?” he says, into my skin.
“Hm?”
“Are you mad at me?”
He sounds smaller than he usually does.
I know I hurt his feelings. I knew when I was doing it. And I would give anything to be okay. To have come upstairs and put on the black T-shirt he left on my bed that saysthis is my costumeand made him happy. But I couldn’t.
That’s not his fault.
I shake my head, and his arm tightens around me, but he doesn’t say anything, so I turn over. I can see the concern still there, the crease between his eyebrows, so I cup his face in my hand.
I kiss him softly, just once, and he makes a surprised sound against my mouth.
I’ve never made the first move.
When I pull back, he’s looking at me differently than usual, but I don’t want to think about what that means, so I pull him closer. He goes willingly, tucking his face into my neck and tangling his cold feet with mine under the blanket.
And right then, I know, without a doubt, that I’m completely screwed.
Chapter 12
I don’t hear him coming, and that should be impossible given that Mike is constantly making some sort of noise. But one second, I’m staring at my laptop, engrossed in a paper I’ve been putting off for two weeks, and the next, there are arms around my shoulders that cause me to damn near jump out of my skin.
“What the hell!”
“Whatcha doing?” He asks, completely unapologetic.
“What does it look like? I gotta finish this essay.”
His chin hooks over my shoulder, and he looks at my screen, his eyes roaming over the paragraphs I’ve written so far on the most boring topic on earth. “How much more do you have?”
“A lot. Go away.”
“Do it later.”
“I can’t do it later, it’s due at midnight.” I make an attempt to shrug him off, but he holds on tighter. “Mike.”
“We’re going out,” he announces, ignoring everything I said.
“I can’t. I just told you—”
“I have a show.” He kisses my neck, and my train of thought derails completely as goosebumps go all the way to the top of my head. “I want you to come.”
“You always have shows.”
“This one’s different.” Another kiss, open mouth this time, and I have to fight the sound threatening to come out. “I wrote you a song.”
“You—” I turn my head to look at him, a mistake because his face is right there and he doesn’t move. “You wrote me a song?”
“Mhm. I’m playing it tonight. I want you to be there.”
“I—” I face forward again, staring at my laptop screen without seeing any of it. Mike wrote me a song. He wants me to come and watch him play it tonight.
I’m having a hard time not reading into that.
