Page 39 of Asystole

“Hey, Chase. I think it’s time for bed. We’re both falling asleep out here.”

“Mmm,” he grunts, rolling toward me until his face is pressed against my stomach. His arms are folded across his broad chest as he nuzzles closer. The proximity gives me a chance to really study his features.

When he sleeps, he looks so fucking young.

The freckles on his cheeks are in clusters dotted on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, as if they had a conversation about how to be the most attractive freckles the world has ever seen.

His lips are full, but not pouty. And he doesn’t have a trace of facial hair.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“You’re awake,” I observe.

“Kinda,” Chase says, eyes still closed.

“Kinda,” I echo, admitting to my perusal of his facial features.

He gives me a sleepy smile.

“Like what you see?”

The problem is that I do. And unfortunately, I don’t think Chase is confused about his sexuality like Stone was. I simply think he’s confident and secure in who he is. He’s a giant ball of masculinity wrapped in a sensitive shell who has an affinity for bro cuddling.

Shit.

Chase may not be confused about what’s going on here, but I sure as fuck am.

“So, do you have plans for Christmas?” I ask the following night as Chase stands at my stove, drying out ground beef in a way that makes me think these tacos will break my molars.

He wanted to ‘repay’ me for bringing him lunch and making him dinner last night, even though he’s basically catatonic after another long day.

“Um, yeah, I do,” he says. “I volunteered to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas. Then I have this thing afterward on Christmas Eve because I didn’t think…I mean, when I made them, you and I weren’t…aw, shit. Are you going to be alone?”

I’ve spent every Christmas alone since moving out here, and I’ve really got no reason to think this year would be different. I assumed Chase would spend it in Vermont with his parents or with Kendra down in Florida.

“Yeah, but it’s cool. It’s been that way for a while now.”

“I should probably be home around nine or nine-thirty. Maybe we could do something easy like a frozen Christmas pizza?”

“What the hell is Christmas pizza?” I ask.

“Regular pepperoni pizza, but you arrange the pepperonis into the shape of a Christmas tree,” Chase explains, drawing out the tree with his hands as he talks.

“Sounds perfect,” I say, fighting my smile. Chase is clearly serious about Christmas pizza, and I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him. He’s such a dichotomous person. Saving lives and managing people’s dire health during the day, but eating Christmas pizza while platonically snuggling on the couch like a child at night.

I don’t ask where he’s going on Christmas Eve or who he’s spending it with. Maybe his co-residents have something planned, or one of the attending physicians hosts all the residents, and Chase has to go.

It’s not like I’m upset about it.

Because I’m definitely not.

He’s been here like four nights. I certainly don’t expect him to sit at home with me for Christmas.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Chase says from the stove, his back to me. I’m certain the ground beef has died three more times since he started cooking it.

“Yeah, sure. You can ask me anything if you come sit down and let me take over dinner,” I say with a grin.

Chase looks at the crispy beef in the pan.