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Then I lean my head against his shoulder.
I’m not thinking about our height difference, so I think my cheek will press against his shoulder. Instead my forehead bumps against the hard swell of his bicep. It’s unyielding. No more receptive to my attempt at comfort than the man himself.
Without meaning to, I laugh, and all the tension in me ebbs. I rub my forehead against his arm, feeling ridiculous.
Eventually, I guess even Barrett gets curious; he lifts his head so he can see my face. “What are you doing?” His face is twisted in a look of total incredulity.
I giggle. “Forehead-humping your arm. Can’t you tell?”
“Yeah.” He makes this husky, half-breath-half-laugh sound, and I feel a zing of victory.
“I’m trying to un-grouch you through osmosis.”
When he cuts his eyes sideways at me, I find his handsome face skeptical. I grin and rub against his arm some more.
Finally—a real laugh from him. “I don’t know about you, Gwen.”
“I don’t know about you either. Who refuses homemade cookies?” I arch my brows accusingly.
“Someone who’s not hungry.”
I hold his gaze as mine softens. My arm around him squeezes. I don’t know what to say, so I just sit beside him, looking at his somber face, into his striking eyes, and try to send good vibes.
“You know…” I let my arm slide down his back, so it’s looser around him. “After my wreck, I had some terrible nightmares. I don’t have them as much now, but I had some in the last week. I find that if I’m stressed out
or something shifts in my day-to-day life, sometimes they crop up again. I have this journal where I write them out. And then I go back in and like…re-script them. Change what happens. I know it probably sounds kind of stupid, but it really does help.”
With my arm still up against his back, I feel him exhale. After a second during which his body feels completely inert, he turns to me with raised brows and twisted lips.
“Is there a reason you told me that?” His tone is surprisingly sharp.
My pulse pounds in irritation. I give him my best oh really look.
“I’m fine,” he says. I swear, I think he grits his teeth.
I feel his back knot up under my hand. Riiight.
“Okay,” I say airily. “You seem tired, that’s all.”
He looks at me strangely, almost angrily. “Yes, we have established that. I don’t see why you give a fuck.”
My heart squeezes, making my head feel light and spinny. I move my arm from him and hug myself. “Because we’re friends.”
“Are we?”
SIXTEEN
Gwenna
I’m not aware of what I do, or what kind of look I give him. I just know it takes a couple of seconds to draw my next breath, and when I do, my pulse gallops and my cheeks feel hot. I jump up and turn around, toward my door.
I feel Barrett’s fingers wrap around my arm. “Dammit.” This time, it’s his eyes seeking mine. I train mine on his green shirt.
“I’m sorry, Gwenna. I’m just…” He scrubs his forehead with his right hand, then lets out a loud sigh. “I’m an asshole.”
He looks so contrite, so worried and—indeed—so tired, my anger melts in a few seconds.
I press my lips together, not quite willing to let him know that yet. I sink back down onto the porch step. If he doesn’t want to be here anymore tonight, this is his chance to go.
