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Chapter Seven
Abby
Something’s not right with Levi. He’s acting all weird, and if it weren’t for the dilated eyes and the flushed cheeks, I would think something was slightly wrong with him. He’s been acting strange since he arrived the first time earlier this afternoon, but I’m sure he just has a little bug or something.
Right now, he’s laying his head on my lap, and it takes everything I have not to sigh with contentment, and maybe even groan a little with excitement. No, not the reaction I should be having right now considering my best friend isn’t feeling so well.
He lies on his back, his hazel eyes staring up at me, and I swear somewhere in my stomach I feel the flutter of a thousand butterflies. My heart beats a fast chorus of hope and yearning in my chest. God, why did I have to develop a crush now?
His eyes search my face, and I swear he can see into my soul. Which isn’t a good thing since what I’m thinking about is probably considered crossing that imaginary friendship line in the sand.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask, worried that he’ll figure me out too easily.
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Much.”
I grab the remote and start the movie. Levi turns on his side and moves his hand beneath the pillow. Directly. Over. My. Youknowwhat! He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, doesn’t care. I swear I’m going to come out of my skin at the closeness of his hand to a place his hand has never been before.
Tingles of awareness start between my legs, making me want to wiggle in my seat. But with his head in my lap, that’s probably not a good idea. So instead, I sit perfectly still, barely breathing, and praying that I can hold it together long enough to make it through the movie.
“Really?” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder as the flick gets underway.
“It’s a classic.”
“You just want to see Heath Ledger.”
“True. His hair is shaggy and long and makes me want to run my fingers through it.” Levi’s gasp makes me look down from the television to see I have my hands in his hair. It’s longer on top, while short in back and around the sides. His hair is silky soft, and though it lacks the curls of Heath’s hair, it’s still almost orgasmic in itself. I tense, which causes me to tug the strands wound through my fingers. The slight pull causes him to groan. G-R-O-A-N. He groans almost sexually from pulling his hair. It makes me hyperaware of the fact that his hand is still so very close to the junction of my legs and that it has been a very long time since I’ve had anything in that general vicinity that isn’t a vibrator.
“Sorry,” I practically shout, pulling my hand from his hair.
“S’okay,” he whispers. “I liked it.”
And for some foreign reason that I have yet to figure out, I actually put my hand back on his head. I make sure to keep it simple, easy movements; more like brushing his longer hair away from his forehead. Surprisingly, I find myself relaxing into the couch more, even though I can’t move my legs.
Levi senses this and sits up quickly. I start to think I went too far with the whole hand-in-his-hair thing, so I’m surprised when he tells me to sit more in the corner of the couch. He takes my legs and spreads them. Heat creeps up my neck and lands on my face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. One of my legs is extended the length of the couch, so he lies next to it, positioning the pillow between my legs. Yep, right there between them. The place where I’m all achy and wet.
My God, I hope he doesn’t notice! Or worse yet…smell it.
I want to jump up off the couch and hide until he leaves, but that’s not going to happen. Before I can put my great game plan into motion, he moves my other leg up on the couch, essentially wrapping it around him. He’s lying between my legs. Levi. My best friend. He’s lying between my legs, people. Do you hear me?
This is so not going to help the crush. In fact, it might have just thrust it straight into Lustville.
“Comfy?” he asks, adjusting his bigger body to snuggle in real close to the place friends aren’t supposed to be.
“Yes.” My voice sounds high-pitched and chipmunky.
And just like that, we watch the movie. I laugh when it’s appropriate and cry when Heath breaks Julia’s heart, but all the while, I’m still very much aware of Levi’s very close proximity to my special lady place. By the time it gets to the end of the movie, and we’ve each consumed no less than four cookies each (fine, I’ve had six), my eyes begin to droop. Levi hasn’t stirred much in the last thirty minutes, which makes me wonder if my friend is still awake or not. I could shift slightly and look, but I don’t want to move a single muscle and risk breaking this crazy nice bubble we’re in.
So I don’t.
Instead, I fall sleep.
* * *
Why in the heck is my apartment so warm? I’ve cocooned myself into my blanket so tightly, that it feels like a second skin, restricting and stifling. I can’t even move. It’s a weird mix of softness and hardness all over. Cracking open my eyes, I focus on the television in the living room, but can’t figure out why I’m still on the couch.
Then it hits me.
Well, a hand does, anyway.
