“But even if a guy gets aroused, he should be able to keep it in his pants.”
She exhales once more. “And sometimes, cuddling just isn’t comfortable.”
I slip off my sweatshirt and toss it on the floor with my jeans, leaving my undershirt in place. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not comfortable to rest your head on someone’s shoulder, like they always describe in the romance books. It’s awkward and hurts your neck.”
I consider her points and make a motion with my hands for her to scoot. She does but pauses. “How do you want to do this?”
“Well, if you get hot easily, since we’ll be in a tight space, then you can be near the zipper. You can lower it when you need air and space.”
She thinks for a moment before asking, “But what if I get cold?”
“Then take the inside of the bag, Charli.”
“I might need both,” she replies, and even though we’re surrounded by darkness, I catch the glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Then, I have the perfect solution,” I tell her, getting down on the ground and carefully slipping my legs in the back behind her and shimmying into the bag.
“What’s that?” she asks as I get situated.
“You sleep on top of me.”
She makes a choking sound in her throat that’s part shock, part laughter. “I’ll just take my chance with the zipper,” she mutters.
“Turn on your side,” I tell her, gently slipping my arm beneath her head, creating something for her to lie on. “Sorry I don’t have a pillow.”
“I don’t need one,” she says through a yawn.
That’s right, she doesn’t, because she has me.
I let myself relax, even though my body is pressed to her backside. I’m certain she can tell how excited I am to be this close to her, to hold her against me, even though I’m not really holding her, per se. But I also keep thinking about what she said. I won’t be the guy who practically mauls her in a sleeping bag, just because she’s here and convenient.
“Comfortable?” I ask, expecting her to complain.
“Actually, yeah,” she whispers, her words holding a hint of surprise.
I don’t care how painful this position is. My arm will go numb and fall off before I ever move and make her uncomfortable. “If you need me to move, just say the word,” I mutter, catching a whiff of her hair. It’s a combination of fresh air, bonfire, and the fruity shampoo she uses.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs, wrapping her hand around my wrist. “Thanks for letting me crash with you.”
Smiling, I whisper, “Not a hardship, Charli.”
After a minute or so, she adds, “Night, Quinn.”
“Good night.” I almost call her sweetheart but manage to bite the term of endearment back.
With a sigh, I close my eyes and let the feel of her body tucked against me settle in. It feels too damn good, too fucking natural to have her here. Which is a problem in itself, because she’s not mine. Thisthingbetween us, whatever the hell it is, isn’t forever.It’s sex. Scratching an itch. Friends with benefits. Whatever you want to call it.
It’s not a relationship.
The sooner I remember that, the better off I’ll be.
Then maybe when she walks away for good, it won’t hurt so damn bad.
Because something tells me that moment will hurt forever.
“Morning,” Camden greets, climbing out of his tent with a dopey grin on his face.
