“Torpor.”
“Sluggishness.”
“Inaction.”
“Ennui.”
She smiled, signaling the end of the volley. How he had missed their silly thesaurus game. He had always enjoyed it, but he’d had no idea how the addition of nudity would add to that enjoyment.
It was also occurring to him, for the first time, that the game always ended with her. He would always keep the ball in the air, but eventually Blair called it, and it wasn’t, he somehow knew, because she’d run out of words.
Blair didn’t do that—run out of words. It was one of the most compelling things about her. He used to think she talked too much,but he was beginning to question that stance. For example, he wished she would say something now.
She did not oblige him.
He rolled over and levered himself out of bed. He pulled a pair of socks out of his dresser and tossed them to her.
“Sleep is very important,” she said as she put on his socks.
He turned back to the dresser. She’d redonned her pajamas, but if she was that cold, he should get her another layer.
“I spent years sleeping next to a snorer,” she said. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“I don’t snore.” He picked up and rejected a University of Minnesota sweatshirt. It was strangely stiff. She should have something softer.
“I don’t want to compromise on my sleeping environment.”
Ah. He turned. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want to sleep with me—sleep as in slumber?”
She made an apologetic face. “Yes.”
“That’s fine.” He didn’t want to sleep with her, either. In addition to the temporal/temperate mismatch, he wasn’t great at sleeping with women. He hadn’t ever really analyzed it beyond the fact that he liked his own space.
So what happened now? They were inhisbed. “Are you waiting to be excused?”
It came out snarkier than he’d intended. Though he had to ask himself why he had intended any amount of snark. He’d just gotten done thinking about how he didn’t want to sleep with her. So why would he be bothered by her leaving?
Because when she was here, his… stuckness abated.
“I guess I am,” she said. “It seems rude to just up and leave.”
He found another sweatshirt, an older, softer one from his former high school. “You’re excused.” He tossed her the sweatshirt. “Don’tget cold on the journey back to your room.” He should get an electric blanket for her bed. Did they still make those?
She got out of bed, and it was all he could do not to grab her hand and ask her to stay. For a while at least. Long enough to demonstrate that he wasn’t as much of a jerk as he appeared to be.
He said nothing.
Chapter 25
Orange Crush
Hi.”
Jack jumped about a foot when Blair entered the kitchen the next morning. He had no idea why. It wasn’t as if he had forgotten she was here. No, despite the fact that he hadn’t had to share his bed, he had spent the night tossing and turning, hyperaware that Blair was in the next room.
“Hi,” he said with his back to her. He finished depressing the plunger on the French press, taking the excuse to gather himself before he looked at her. When he turned and set a mug next to her, he thought he was ready.
He was not ready.
