But this is a perfect example of one of the lessons my parents have tried to teach me. Men don’t like needy women. Tonight has surely proven to Reed just how needy I am. Panicking over raccoons? Seriously?
“It’s fine.”
He frowns harder and holds out a hand. I automatically laymine in it. We drop our attention to where my fingers shiver in his palm. I draw my hand back again, but he’s already seen all the evidence he needs. She’s guilty, Your Honor.
“You’re not fine yet,” he says. “Can I have a blanket?”
“A blanket?”
He moves past me, heading for the stairs. “I’m going to sleep on your couch.”
I follow as he clomps downstairs, my mouth opening but not making a sound. He stops in front of the couch, his gaze stuck on the decorative throw on the back. He frowns at it, but I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking. Why keep the itchy, coarse thing?
Because the decorating committee said so.
“You have something more comfortable than that, right?” He sits and reaches forward to untie his work boots.
I make a startled noise as if he reached for the button on his jeans instead. “You’re not really staying. Are you?”
“Will it comfort you if I do?” His expression softens, loosening the bands of anxiety running through me. “If it won’t, I won’t stay. Say the word Rose, and I’m gone.”
“I…” I’m torn between what I want and what Ishouldwant. What I’m supposed to do and what I’m afraid to ask for, even if he’s already offered it to me on a golden platter. Would I like him to stay and make sure I’m safe and comforted tonight?Yes, please.I want to tell him.But I can’t shake the worry he’ll think less of me if I do.
He stays right where he is, but when he speaks, his words might as well ghost over my skin. “Your wants and needs are valid, Rose. Whatever you want right now, I’ll do it. But I need you to tell me what that is.”
I don’t care how needy it makes me or if he’ll think I’m too high maintenance to bother with. Having him down here will quiet my fears better than any alarm system could.
“I’ll get you that blanket,” I finally say.
His mouth tips up, and he nods. “Good.”
I run upstairs and grab a quilt and spare pillow out of thelinen closet. By the time I make it back down to the living room, Reed’s got his boots off and has laid his flannel shirt across one of the armchairs. He’s still wearing his soft gray T-shirt and jeans, but knowing he’s about to go to sleep in my house, on my couch, gives the moment an intimacy I’m not sure what to do with.
I pass over the pillow and quilt. He plumps the pillow, throwing the blanket over himself as he lies down and stretches out his legs. The couch isn’t really long enough for him and it’s definitely not comfortable, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Would you rather sleep in the other bed?” I ask.
“Nah. Down here, I’ll be able to hear if the raccoons come back looking for margaritas.”
His teasing sends warmth through my veins down to every last finger and toe. I’m not sure what to do with that, either.
I stay rooted to the spot, watching him. Possibly memorizing him. I don’t know for sure what my brain is doing. All I know is, he’s willingly sacrificing a comfortable night’s sleep in order to ensureI’mcomfortable. My parents’ lessons tell me I should fight this. My dating experience says this won’t end well. It’s not attractive or “girlfriend worthy” for me to show Reed my flaws, mistakes, and irrational fears like displaying trophies in a case. I should tell him to go home, that I’m fine, and I don’t need him to be my personal bodyguard.
But Iwanthim to be exactly that. So I say nothing.
After a minute, he opens his eyes and squints up at me. The odd angle almost has me believing he’s got a smile on his face. “Goodnight, coffee buddy.”
I have the worst urge to run my fingers through his messy hair, but I close my hands into fists. “Goodnight.”
I turn out all the lights and scurry upstairs to my room. Sliding between my sheets, I am surprisingly content knowing Reed’s in the house. Even if a not-tiny part of me wishes he were closer.
For the record, I sleep better than I have in years.
14
reed
That’s gotto be one of the worst night’s sleep I’ve had in years. Every time I’d try to stretch out or roll, I’d wake up and remember I was on a couch not meant for sleeping. I’m used to pitch black nights out in the cabin, and there’s enough ambient light in Rose’s living room to rival a stadium concert. At a guess, I got a max of four hours of sleep last night.
