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“I couldn’t resist with you mumbling my name and smiling at me like that.” He chuckles lightly.
“Smiling? Your name?”
“You smile in your sleep, and yep, I distinctly heard you say Charlie. Oh! I guess you could have been saying your own name, but who does that?”
I smile, too, debating if I should tell him it’s because of him. I don’t, though. He gets all smuggy and bigheaded when I compliment him too much. Picturing him smirking makes me giggle.
“What’s so funny?” he asks. His arms are still wrapped around me, holding me tight.
“Nothing. So how far into the movie did I make it?”
“You didn’t even make it to the twenty-minute mark. I thought you wanted to watch it?”
“I thought I did, too, until we got all comfy and lay down. I blame the beer. Did you watch it?”
“I’ll never eat a burger again. Thanks for that.”
“So it was educational is what you’re saying?”
“Repeats for you—ignorance is bliss.”
I laugh against his chest, not wanting to move from this position. His fingers weave into my hair, then drag through its length. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation, the comfort it gives me.
His voice is soft as he says, “You didn’t drink me under the table, Char.”
“I finished the one,” I say, proud as a peacock. “Are you disappointed in me?”
“So disappointed. It’s tragic actually.”
I scoot back so I can see his face again. “You don’t want to show up at your family’s house drunk, do you?”
He seems to be considering this idea. “You’re right. I should be on my toes, at least in the beginning.”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry, pretty girl, you’re safe. You’re not an Adams.”
“I’m a Barrow.”
He laughs louder this time and taps me on the nose. “Yes, you most certainly are a Barrow.”
I glance over my shoulder to see the time. “It’s four. I should shower.”
“Good. I didn’t want to have to say anything. Ugh! That hurt. You’ve got bony knuckles.”
“Strong ones, too.” I roll all of the way off the couch, shaking the pain away from my hand from hitting him so hard, and land on my feet. “Make yourself at home.” I walk toward the bedroom, leaving him there to relax.
He stretches out his legs while putting his hands behind his head. “Already am.”
For some reason, I feel weird getting undressed with Charlie in the next room. Memories of that drunken night fill my thoughts and the embarrassment returns. A warm feeling overcomes my mortification, and I smile stupidly to myself, remembering how he touched me, how he felt under my hands, and that look. I close my eyes and can see that look—the one that made me feel perfect and sexy and pretty all at once.
He has the ability to make everyone feel special. It’s a gift, really, but I don’t mention it to him because I need to keep his ego in check. I see the way women look at him when we’re out together. I also see how men compare themselves to him and stand a little straighter, as if that builds their own self-esteem.
Taking my shower, I feel hyperaware that he’s in the next room and I hurry. For a split second, though, I consider inviting him to join me. But that’s crazy thinking, because after giving my grand confession a second thought, I decided against telling him. I don’t want to lose what we have, what we are together. We’re just friends. That’s all. Friends. Who cares that he frosts and compliments me? Who cares if I haven’t been able to get his lower back dimples out of my head since I spied them at his apartment when his shirt rode up and his jeans hung down? Who cares, right?
“Right.”
I walk into my room after drying off with a fluffy towel. I wrap another one turban-style around my head to keep my hair from dripping on the floor. There’s a knock on the door as I’m digging through my drawer for undies. I jump, startled, a squeal escaping.
“Charlie?” he asks from the other side of the door.
“Yes?” I call, trying to sound normal and not like some paranoid girl in a horror movie.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Scrambling over to the closet, I grab my robe and speak too soon. “Ummm, all right. Jus—”
The door opens, and our eyes meet. It all happens so fast. His eyes dip down, taking me in. My arms fly to cover my body, knees knock together, one arm goes over my breasts, and the other hand covers my girly parts. A scream escapes.
His gaze drops to the ground as a hand goes to shield his eyes, and he retreats backward. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you say it was all right.”
The door shuts, but I’m frozen in place.
“Charlie?” he asks, tapping on the door. “Are you okay?”
