“First? Love that movie. My mom named my sister after it, actually.” He relaxes against the cushions, reaching for the corner of my blanket. “Second, you need to share.”
Heat floods my face. I should say no. Should keep this boundary at least. But I’m already tossing a corner of the blanket toward him before I can talk myself out of it.
He’s staying?
The movie starts, but I barely register what’s on screen. I’m too aware of the warmth radiating from his body.
It’s pretend. He’s just being nice. Don’t read into this.
But somewhere near the middle, my body stops listening to my brain. I shift closer. Just a little. Then a little more. My head tips to the side, and suddenly I’m resting against his shoulder.
His warmth wraps around me, steady and solid. My muscles unclench one by one, and I melt against him. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not holding everything together. I’m just… here. Being held up by someone else.
My breathing evens out as Meg Ryan bounces in her car to the chorus of “Horses, Horses, Horses.” My head dips to the beat, eyes heavy. Jack shifts on the couch beside me, warm and solid, and I stop fighting it.
The TV is still on, throwing a faint glow across my living room when I wake up.
I’m curled against Jack, his arm wrapped loosely around my middle, and for one perfect, terrifying moment, I don’t want to move.
Then reality crashes back in.
Oh god. I fell asleep on him.
There’s no way I can sneak away without waking him up. Do I just wait? Pretend I’m still asleep until he wakes up?Forget it, I’ll gnaw off my arm like a trapped animal and flee. That’s a reasonable option.
The only option, really, when I lift my head and feel the small, wet puddle on his shirt.
Shit, I drooled on Jack Murphy. I can’t… I don’t think I’ll ever forgive my friends for this.
“Movie done?” His arm tightens around me slightly before he seems to catch himself, then pulls back. “Sorry.”
I untangle myself, instantly regretting it as the cool October night replaces the human furnace I was just sleeping with. “You should probably go,” I say, my voice scratchy from sleep.
“Yeah.” He swallows, and something in his voice makes my chest ache. “Probably.”
“And I—” I motion toward his sleeve. “Sorry.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“What’s that exactly?”
“It’s covered in the fake-boyfriend dating manual. I need to accept your apology and reassure you that it doesn’t bother me.”
“When really?” I lean back on my hands. I’m too busy studying him in those slutty little glasses of his.
“I’m going home to burn it, then buy a new one because I can afford it.”
I giggle, biting my bottom lip. I finally peel my gaze away, happy that he uses that moment to stand up and grab his jacket in the kitchen.
“Good night, Izzy.”
I nod, wrapping myself in the blanket that smells like him now. I lie back against the pillows before I can do something stupid like ask him to stay. “Good night, Jack.”
I don’t watch him leave. This feeling—this ache in my chest—is a warning. It’s exactly why I need to keep my walls up, because Jack Murphy is temporary.
This whole thing is temporary.
I wipe my eyes and stretch, squinting into the morning sun pouring through my windows. Never made it to my bed last night, but still—rude.
