My hand shoots down to his jeans in search of a bulging pocket. I find a bulge. But it’s not his pocket. And that’s definitely not a phone.
He jolts.“Aah!Millie, what the fuck?!”
In a clash of hands, torsos, and hips, I’m on my back, arms pinned above my head, a panting Luc on top of me.
It should be noted I’m panting too.
“What are you doing?” he rasps.
“I—just—sorry,” I squeak. WhatamI doing? I can’t even think of an answer, much less put words to one. All I can process is that Luc is on top of me. And if I thought spooning with him felt amazing, this is light years better.
Because that bulge that is assuredly not a cell phone is about two inches away from where I’d really, really enjoy it.
And, shit. Does he just carry that thing around? Fully loaded like that? All the time?
His face hovers above mine, and I know—though I can’t exactly see—he’s frowning. Waiting for an answer. I owe him that.
“I’m sorry,” I manage. “I shouldn’t have done that. I-I was reaching for your phone.”
“W-what?” His lungs constrict, and I feel the shock of it through my body.
I also feel incredibly stupid. “To look up the word,” I admit weakly.
He stares down at me, not saying a thing. I have no idea what he’s thinking. Probably about how much of an idiot I am.
“¿Qué estoy haciendo?You’re sick,” he hisses, and rolls off me. The loss of him is almost enough to make me whimper.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still sounding out of breath. “I’ll go.”
I grip his hand. “Please don’t.”
I know it’s wrong. It’s selfish and inconsiderate. But the last thing I want is for him to leave. He’s propped up against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. The hand beneath mine is stiff, thrumming with tension.
“You want me to stay?” he asks finally.
Shame washes over me. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“I shouldn’t,” I admit. “But I want you to.”
Luc’s sigh cuts through the room. He sounds confused, frustrated, and it’s my fault.
“I didn’t mean...” I start, squeezing his hand. “I… I didn’t know.”
The tension leaves him, and he squeeze back. “You didn’t know what?”
I gulp. How do I explain what I mean? Maybe it’s better I don’t.
“Say it.”
“When I…” I’m so glad he can’t see me. I’m probably turning every shade of red, “...grabbed you.”
A laugh erupts, shattering the night, and then smothered laughter shakes the bed. Luc squeezes my fingers with one hand and covers his face with the other. He rolls toward me, so we are again face to face.
“Why do you think I couldn’t sleep?”
“Oh!” I gasp, covering my own laugh. The urge to reach for him is so strong I give in halfway and touch his face again.
