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Did Lucas sleep with me?
I’m still wearing everything he gave me last night. I slide my legs against the soft sheets and worry my lip with my teeth.
My body still prickles with an undercurrent of something. It’s a restlessness that seeks satisfaction. Even the sheets against my skin feels nice.
Last night was a lot.
I don’t know what made me stop. It felt good in the heat of the moment. A deep need settled in my gut and I kind of wanted to give into more. But then when Lucas voiced it…I don’t know. It was like being in the storm again, rain dumping down on us.
Lancelot grouses when I get out of bed.
“I’d cuddle with you all day if I could, bud.” I stretch my arms overhead and my spine realigns with a satisfying pop. A tender ache lingers in my body. I actually slept pretty great for the insane night I had. The bed is really comfortable. I could sleep longer, but not here. “I’ve got to get home.”
I hover at the end of the bed for a minute. My clothes aren’t on the bathroom floor, I can see the bare tile through the open door. I don’t know if I should go downstairs in what I have on, or if I should try to find something else.
The mirror across the room catches my attention. I decide hell yes I need more clothes on right now. God, I don’t even want to think about how I look wearing Lucas’ oversized t-shirt and boxers.
Not only that, there are mild bruises visible on my thighs and arms.
My palms are still red, but not as sore as last night when the scrapes were fresh. I don’t know which of the bruises are from trying to climb over the downed tree or from Lucas digging his fingers in my skin.
As I look for something to wear, I poke around his room. It’s as big as the master bedroom at my house, with cedar accents and a rustic mountain style. The wood floors are mostly covered by a large gray and blue patterned plush area rug. The big window has a bench seat beneath it, where a couple of books have been left.
There’s a desk next to the window, beneath the trophy-packed shelves. There are some sketch pads. I lean in to get a closer look at the Instax prints pinned to the cork board. In one Lucas is on his boat with Devlin and Connor Bishop. There are a few others—Lucas and Lancelot at the peak on a hike, Lucas and Marissa in their sports uniforms and on the beach at a lake.
A squirrelly feeling skitters through me. Frowning, I read the trophy plaques to distract myself. They all say Lucas Saint, quarterback, and the year. They date back to when he was a kid.
I find a big hoodie in the corner to pull on along with a pair of silver basketball shorts. I have to tie the drawstring tight and roll them a few times so they don’t fall down. Most of the bruises are hidden. The hoodie comes almost to my knees and hangs over my hands, but it’s warm and smells nice. Because I’m alone, I press the neckline to my nose and sniff, smiling.
Feeling a hundred percent better with more clothes on, I creep downstairs to raid the kitchen for coffee. The house is still and quiet.
I like mornings. The hush that stretches as the world wakes up is peaceful.
People sleep all over in puppy piles. I come off the bottom step and take in the remnants of the party. It’s like a Titian painting of a bacchanal.
I tiptoe through the room and pause when I come around the corner to the open kitchen. Lucas is there, shirtless. He’s the only other person up. He holds a steaming mug in front of his face as he watches me.
The world seems to hiccup to a stop around us as I stare back at him, my heart tripping over itself.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee calls to me.
Gathering myself, I shuffle into the kitchen. Lucas’ attention flicks down to his SLHS Coyotes hoodie I have on. His hoodie.
It’s different when I have to face him wearing his clothes. Heat fills my face.
When I slip past him to look for a coffee mug, he plays with the ends of my hair.
My hunt for a mug stops when Lucas sets his cup down with a clink and corals me against the counter. I turn to face him. He plants his hands on either side of the granite, his forearms flexing as his head dips.
Lucas looks at me, eyes hooded, and lets out a rough, sleepy hum that pierces into my stomach and makes warmth pool there.
Between the hoodie and having Lucas close to me, his scent surrounds me. I’m lost in the foggy water with no way out. The only way forward is to cling to Lucas and hope he won’t drown me.
The dream-memory that hovered on the edge of reality clarifies. He definitely held me in his arms last night.
“Morning,” I say in a hush. “Uh, did you take my clothes?”
He grunts and presses his hips against mine, trapping me against the counter. I’m pulled in opposite directions by my head and my heart.
