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“I need you,” I say, and my voice suddenly cracks.
He hooks an arm around my back and draws me down into the bed with him, his arms encircling me tightly.
“Come closer,” he says. “You smell good.”
I lay my head on his chest and suddenly, it’s like all the dams I’ve built within myself give way. I sniffle and try to hold it back, but I can’t. “I should go,” I say.
“If that’s what you want,” he says softly. But he doesn’t let me go. I burrow more tightly against him.
“It’s not.” My voice cracks and tears begin to burn my eyes. I squeeze them tightly together, but it has been too long. I have held too much back.
“It’s okay,” he soothes.
“I know it is.”
He holds me through the sobbing that has been a little too long in coming. He holds me through all of it, so close that our bodies are like one.
Finally, when I’m spent and tired, I ask, “Can I stay?”
“Yes,” he says quietly. “You can stay.”
I pat his chest. “Your shirt’s wet.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to get you another one?”
“No.” He pulls back from me long enough to pull the wet shirt over his head, and then he brings me back to him. “I don’t need another.”
His skin is soft and rough, and we have never been so close. I burrow in tightly and close my eyes. “Can I still stay?”
“Yes, you can still stay,” he says. His lips touch my forehead.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Go to sleep.”
Mick
When I wake up, Wren’s no longer draped over my chest. When we fell asleep, she was pressed so close to me that I couldn’t tell where she stopped and I started. My chest was still damp with her tears, and her wet lashes swooped across my naked skin. Being that close to her was its own special kind of torture—the absolute best kind.
I’ve wanted Wren to open up to me for so long. And to be quite honest, now that she laid an apology on the table and gave me some hope, I have no fucking idea what to do with it. All I know is that I want more Wren. I want everything. And if that makes me a greedy bastard, so be it.
I quickly find a clean shirt and pull it over my head. Then I brush my teeth and step into the hallway. I kind of think Wren and I need to have a conversation. We need to have a conversation that’s not mired in hurt and stuck in the past. We need to have a talk about this friendship we’re building. I feel like I need to tell her how very much I’m enjoying being her BFF. And if that’s all we ever are, I’ll be okay with that, because I’m finding that I like Wren as a friend. And my parents always said that’s the first step toward falling in love.
Slow and steady wins the race.
I start down the hallway, intending to knock on her door, when I hear a laugh from the living room. I turn the corner and find Wren standing on one foot on a throw pillow from the couch. She has Chase clutched in her arms, and she weaves and bobs dramatically, pretending like she could fall off the pillow at any moment.
I stop and hitch my shoulder against the doorjamb, and just stare at her. She’s wearing those damn pajama shorts and a long t-shirt, and even more beautiful than that is the smile that’s on her face. Her grin must be contagious, because Anna and Devon have the same bright smiles on their faces.
Anna, the eight-year-old, spies me standing in the doorway and yells, “Watch out, Mick! The floor is made of lava!”
I gasp and pretend to be nervous. “Oh, no!” I cry. “What are we going to do?”
“We have to save Wren!” Devon shouts. “She’s stranded out there!” Anna and Devon are both perched like birds on the back of the sofa, out of harm’s way.
“Someone help me!” Wren cries quietly, her voice much softer than the kids’. She winks at me, and fuck if my heart doesn’t flip over.
