Page 112 of Glitched Play

"On sleep deprivation."

"And?"

"My preliminary findings indicate movement is inefficient."

I tilt my head just enough to look at him.

"You made that up."

"I did."

His mouth twitches and it feels like a victory, Witt joking.

"I'm keeping track," I whisper.

"Of?"

"The number of jokes you make."

"I don't make jokes."

"You absolutely do."

"I make observations that occasionally produce amusement."

I grin. "That's the most Witt sentence ever."

His fingers continue their slow path across my back before stopping completely. For a long second neither of us says anything. I stare at the morning sunlight creeping across his lean muscled body.

Everything feels... different.

Not awkward or uncertain. I feel comfortable in his arms and in his house, making my stomach flip.

My fingers draw imaginary words on his bicep mustering up the courage to speak honestly.

"So..." I ask sheepishly. "What do we do now?"

He studies me with that thoughtful expression that always makes me wonder what equations are running through his head.

"I usually have all the answers."

"I've noticed."

"But..." His thumb brushes my hip beneath the sheet. "...I've never encountered this particular problem before."

I blink. "Problem?"

"Yes."

"I'm a problem?" I prop myself on one elbow, fighting a grin.

"You are currently preventing me from completing my morning routine."

I exaggerate a gasp. "I knew it."

"You also prevented approximately four hours and thirty-eight minutes of sleep."

"I apologized for that." I trail one finger along the edge of the blanket like I’m making a very serious legal argument.