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He rolls onto his back again, but this time he puts his arm around me, pulling me into his chest, before making some comment about Owen Wilson. Apparently we are watching this movie and having a sleepover. If I hadn’t seen this movie before, I would have no idea what is going on as I lie here wondering what is happening in my living room. Does he not want to have sex with me? I mean, he also didn’t come in the other night when he dropped me off. But does he not feel this intense pull toward me that I do toward him? Mine is so strong, he has to feel something, right? I remembered the way he seemed to linger during our first kiss the other night. Is he really just here to spend time with me?
I know it must still be the middle of the night when I wake because there’s no light coming through the crack in the curtains. I’m uncomfortable from lying on the floor, knowing the only reason I fell asleep was because I was curled into Dean with my head on his chest. I shake him gently until he stirs.
“Come on, let’s go to bed,” I whisper.
“Shhhh,” he mumbles and tries to pull me into him. “This has to be our bed tonight.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but he’s half asleep and might not be sure himself. I stand, grabbing a couple pillows and his wrist, tugging on him until he reluctantly stumbles up and follows me to my room. I set the pillows down and let him fall into bed while I go to flick the light off. He mumbles something about a sleepover, but I can’t understand him. I pull my pajama bottoms off before I climb in because I’m so uncomfortable sleeping in them. I don’t usually sleep in anything except my underwear, but taking my shirt off might be a little weird.
I lie down next to him, leaving a little space in between us. Just because we fell asleep cuddling, doesn’t mean he likes to sleep that way. As soon as I go to pull the sheet over me, Dean reaches for my waist. The second his fingers land on the edge of my panties, he rubs them against the lace. He must realize I took my pajamas off because his eyes shoot open. There’s a combination of lust and anger in his eyes, but by the way it startles me, it seems like more of the latter.
“I said this was a PG sleepover,” he quietly growls at me before rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling, much more awake than he was a minute ago. “You’re making that very difficult,” he adds when I don’t say anything. I can’t tell if he’s actually mad or not.
I’m still half asleep, but I’m not stupid. I know he’s talking about the fact that I took my pajamas off. I’m not sure if I did it for any other reason than comfort, and maybe I still shouldn’t have, but I don’t think I was subconsciously expecting anything. I close my eyes and whisper for him to go back to sleep. He stills and assuming he listened, I take a breath.
I know I’ve started to drift off because it feels like I’m dreaming. His fingers slowly smooth over my skin, tracing the line where it meets the lace. He makes his way closer to my center, then pulls back, his hand resting on my hip. He grips slightly harder, tugging me to him until there’s only an inch or two between us. He leans his head toward mine and whispers in my ear, “How do you feel about PG13?”
My heart races, but I’m so drawn to him, there’s no way my answer could be anything different. Instead of using words, I lean in and kiss him hard on the mouth, pulling our bodies together, closing the gap between us. He breathes out like he was holding his breath waiting for me to respond. He kisses me again, his tongue parting my lips with urgency. It’s like he was being tortured and is making the most of his freedom before it’s taken away again. It’s ironic because he is the one who put a limit on what happens tonight. I’m still a little confused by that. We haven’t had a conversation about what we are doing, we’ve been on one date. Having sex already would feel quick, but he seems like he’s putting in enough effort for it to not only be about that. Considering this is only the second time I’ve spent time with him, I’m nervous to bring it up so soon and scare him away, but maybe he would tell me if I was brave enough to ask for clarity about what he’s thinking.
I snap back to the present, wanting to ignore this anxious feeling I’ve constantly had since Troy disappeared on me. I lean more into our kiss, wrapping my arm around him, digging my fingers into his back with the same intensity I feel about wanting him to be closer than he is right now. I feel him growing hard through the scarce amount of fabric that separates us, and knowing that he’s turned on right now makes me want him, without question. A thought flashes across my mind how weird that is because I’ve never been a boy crazy kind of girl or the type to jump into bed with anyone. I’ve also never felt this level of connection with someone or had this pull toward anyone I just met before. I wonder if it’s because of him or because I’ve never really put myself in this type of situation.
A slight hesitation snaps me out of my thoughts. I pull back and open my eyes, and he does the same. It only lasts a split second before he kisses me again. This time, his urgency seems to have faded. Instead, he runs his fingers through my hair, behind my ear, and whispers, “goodnight!” with a smirk and a wink before rolling over and pulling the sheet to his shoulder. Wait, did he wink at me? This guy. I don’t know whether to smile like a giddy teenager or roll my eyes until they get stuck back there.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’mnotentirelysurewhy, but when I wake, I’m surprised to see Dean still in my bed. He’s already awake, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Finally, you’re awake! Let’s go get breakfast!”
I rub my eyes, thinking about what’s in my fridge right now. Absolutely nothing. “Brail’s?” I ask, rolling on my side to face him, careful not to open my mouth too much because who knows what my breath smells like.
“I’m in.”
Joy, the owner of Brail’s, greets us when we walk in. She doesn’t know who I am, but Avery and I have been here a few times, and her name matches her personality so well it’s impossible to forget. “Would you like a table or the bar top?” She directs the question toward both of us, a genuine smile on her face.
Dean looks at me, allowing me to choose. “Bar please!” I respond to Joy, before turning back to Dean. “I like the spinning stools.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes give away the amusement the rest of his face tries to hide. His hand grazes my lower back, guiding me in front of him to follow Joy to our seats. She walks us to the gray laminate bar, and we both slide onto a red leather stool. Immediately I twist my body, so my seat spins until I’m facing Dean, a smile on my face.
“You’re not hard to please, are you?” he asks, his grin matching mine.
“Nope!” I shrug. “Did you expect something else from the girl who spent her 21st birthday in a hot tub with her friends?”
He reaches out, his hands falling to each of my knees. The contact sends a spark through me.
“The night we met was your birthday?”
“Yup!” I twist my chair until I’m facing forward and pick up the menu in front of me.
I feel him staring as I try to read the menu.
Turning to face him again, I’m drawn straight to his muscled forearms, resting on the counter, as he holds his own menu. He’s got his dark gray long sleeve shirt pushed up to his elbows, and I’m immediately distracted. This isn’t a body part I’ve ever been attracted to before, but I can’t look away. He looks strong. I wonder if he works out. He must. Either way it’s hot, kind of the way my face is getting as my memory flashes to our first kiss when he gracefully pushed me against his truck and pulled my lips closer to his.
“What?” he chuckles, breaking my trance.
I clear my throat awkwardly and shake my head slightly. “Nothing.”
“So, you didn’t even get carded on your birthday?”
“Nope. First time was when I went to the bar with you. I didn’t even get to order my first legal drink out,” I joke.
