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Laurent’s hand shifted to his crotch, and I laughed at the shiver that wracked his body.
“Anyway, the bathroom's all yours.”
Laurent headed into the bathroom, and I dove under the covers, pulling them to my chin. Maybe I should close my eyes and go to sleep, or at least pretend I’m sleeping. That way, we won’t have to talk anymore. Except I didn’t mind talking to him, even about the things I kept to myself most of the time. For some reason, he made me comfortable to say exactly what I was thinking and feeling.
After all this time, he hadn’t changed. He was broader, more mature in face and mind, but beneath the exterior, he was the same. I don’t know if I was relieved or scared. He made me fall in love with him once despite my resistance, and though I was older, stronger, less jaded by fairy tales, I knew damn well he could make it happen again.
I didn’t want to break my promise.
I flipped the light switched and hunkered down beneath the covers, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping sleep would take me before the water turned off.
It didn’t. The sink turned off, the shower turned on, and visions of water streaming over Laurent’s bare muscled chest assaulted my mind. I groaned into the oversized pillow.
The water turned off, and my heart slammed against my chest in a mixture of panic and excitement. Stupid heart had no idea what it wanted. Either way, it was going to get me in trouble if it didn’t knock it off.
Light trickled into the dark room, and Laurent’s footsteps padded across the carpet. I tried to hold my breath, but being human, I could only manage for so long.
Weight pressed down on the mattress, and I shifted toward him. I wanted to stop myself, but I was supposed to be sleeping. The weight distributed as I felt his legs kick onto the bed and go under the blankets as well. A lump lodged in my throat, and I swallowed it.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” he said. The scent of his shampoo and soap created an intoxicating smell.
I didn’t say anything. Maybe if I was quiet, he’d think he was wrong.
“You’re on your stomach, and you never sleep on your stomach. You always sleep on your side, curled up in a ball.”
“It’s possible I changed my sleeping position in the last fifteen years. My body isn’t as limber as it once was. I sleep the wrong way and my back is out for a week.”
“Knew you were awake.”
I gasped at his cleverness. “I hate you.”
“Hate to break it to you, but no matter how much you say it, we both know it’ll never be true.”
“Can you stop talking? I’m trying to sleep.”
“No, you’re trying to avoid an awkward moment with me.”
“Can you blame me? Thisisawkward.”
“Only because you’re making it awkward.”
I rolled on to my back—more like flopped with pent up exasperation. “And how am I doing that?”
“By curling into a ball and hiding from me, pretending you’re sleeping and refusing to even look at me.”
“I don’t need to. I know you’re there.” Besides, if I looked at him, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to turn away. I was afraid memories of that night would flash in my mind, and I’d either panic and run out of the room, or I’d melt into those damn eyes and throw caution to the wind.
Neither option was okay.
I heard a light chuckle, then felt him shift to rest his body against the headboard.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Then turn the TV on. I don’t mind.”
“I don’t want to watch TV.”
