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He adjusts to roll away, but I force his shoulder back into the mattress. Our eyes meet, and my chest aches.
“Tristan, what is it?” I say softly, touching his cheek. “Are you…?”
Alarm runs through me. Oh god. Did I miss a signal? Did we do something he didn’t want? I rack my brain trying to think of what I missed. Everything that just happened runs in a graphic replay through my mind, but nothing felt wrong in the moment. If anything…
I breathe easier when the corner of his mouth tips up.
“Relax. I’m fine,” he says, tugging a lock of my hair. His gaze turns thoughtful as he winds it around his finger. “You worry about me too much. I’m not made of glass.”
“Someone has to.”
His weak smile pierces my heart, and I lean down for a soft kiss. This time I release him and settle beside him where I continue tracing his skin as he stares up at the ceiling.
“So what’s happening in that head of yours?” I ask when he doesn’t speak.
He blinks hard, his jaw tightening before the cloud over his face clears. “I’m starving. That’s what’s happening in my head. You think this workout earned a pizza?”
I hate his deflection, but I force a smile anyway. I know better than to push him.
“I don’t know aboutthisworkout, but the six thousand pushups you did before it probably did.”
His grin seems genuine this time, and yep. Have to kiss that too.
