Page 72 of Trust

The idea won't leave me alone. I tell myself I’m only getting up to use the bathroom. That’s it. But I know that’s not why I’m standing now, padding past his bed in my tank top and pajama shorts.

Staying in the bathroom longer than I need to, I splash cold water on my face, walk in small circles, and comb through my hair for the third time.

When I finally step out, the sky has partly cleared, and moonlight pours through the window. I freeze in the doorway.

He’s awake.

Chris lies on his back in the middle of the bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting across his bare stomach. His body, hard lines and blurry shadows, looks carved from the night itself. He’s watching me.

I stop beside his bed, arms crossed tight. The air is charged, like I’ve stepped into a decision I can’t turn away from. I’m cold, but I can’t tell if it’s the temperature or the nerves crawling across my skin. I want to speak, but I don’t know how to ask or what I’m even asking.

And I don’t have to.

He makes the first move, his muscles flexing slightly as he reaches for the blanket and pulls it back, wordlessly welcoming me to join him.

“Sleep only,” he says, voice a husky whisper in the dark. Simple, clear, and somehow safe.

Slowly, I climb into his bed.

The sheets are cozy, and I lie on my side with my back to him, trying to keep a respectful distance, as if staying motionless will get me through the night without melting into liquid again.

Of course, I should have known better.

His strong arm slides around my middle. He folds me into his warmth, protective without claiming. It’s pure closeness, the version I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for.

His bare chest is firm against my back, his steady breath brushing the base of my neck. His legs graze mine as a hand settles flat against my stomach. The sensation of being wanted seeps through me, and I’m certain I’ve never felt this protected.

No more words pass between us. None are needed. This is comfort, simple as that.

I exhale slowly, the last of the tension leaking from my limbs. My fingers uncurl. My body relaxes. And finally, finally, I close my eyes.

◆◆◆

I wake disoriented by the quiet. The thunder has stopped. So has the rain.

I hold on to the blanket covering me, unwilling to let go just yet. The spot beside me has cooled already. Chris’s scent lingers in the pillow beneath my cheek. It’s subtle, but it’s him.

Rolling onto my back, I let the calm settle over me. Awkwardness should come, but it doesn’t.

I was wrapped in his arms only a few hours ago, feeling the heat of his skin. He didn’t try anything, just held me in a way that mattered, at least to me.

Without a phone or a clock, nothing fixes me to a time, but I can tell it’s later than usual. I drag myself out of bed. The light through the curtains is dull and muted, and the house is alive already, moving ahead without me. Quickly dressed, I tiptoe across the floor as if I don’t belong here and might be caught trespassing.

The stairs groan, all too familiar, loud enough to ruin any hope of stealth. I don’t want to be heard. I don’t want to walk in and have everyone’s attention snap to me.

As I reach the bottom, voices float to me from the kitchen. They’re both here. Did they talk about me? Am I a, what did they call it, acquaintance now? And, more importantly, would I want to be? I’m not opposed to it.

My heart flips. I’m not sure what I thought would happen today. Whether Chris would avoid me, or Cash would look at me differently. Yesterday, I kissed both of them and ended up in one of their beds. I don’t even know how that math adds up.

Only the kitchen door separates me from them. I hesitate, heart banging louder than my steps, my stomach light with nerves. I push it open anyway.

Cash spots me first. He beams at me instantly, without any trace of judgment.

“Good morning, Gorgeous.”

My cheeks go hot, but I manage a grin. “Mornin’,” I say more to the floor than to him.

I’m trying to find words when he lifts his coffee mug and teases, “You’re late. Have a good night?”