Page 30 of Boyfriend
“Nah, my idea was dumb. I thought I could turn back time. My dad used to love Christmas. He used to make waffles on Christmas Eve morning, with all the toppings. He used to get a Bûche de Noël from the bakery, and hide little presents on the tree. This year there's not even a Christmas tree in this house. It's like he's given up.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
“Don't be. You weren’t wrong about him. You told him how it is.”
“I sure did. Loudly.”
We both chuckle.
Beneath the covers, Weston uses his toe to nudge my toe. “Just so you know, I got my fake girlfriend a Christmas present. It's kind of a joke, though.”
My heart skips a beat. “Just so you know, I got my fake boyfriend a present, too. Also a bit of a joke.”
“What did you get me?” he asks immediately.
“You think I'd just tell my fake boyfriend his gift before Christmas? Think again.”
We laugh, and suddenly this isn't so awkward. Because something unexpected has happened between us—we really became friends. That's how it goes when two people allow each other to see all the dark shadows of their lives. They bond.
And I like it. I need friends. Who doesn’t need friends?
“Goodnight, Abbi,” he says with a yawn.
I relax against the pillow as the awkwardness between us seeps away for good. It’s comfortable here in bed with Weston. He’s warm and cozy and he smells like woodsy goodness. “Goodnight, Westie.”
There’s a soft snort from his side of the bed. And then peace.
Ten
A Whole Lot Messier
Weston
Somehow, I don’t open my eyes for almost twelve hours. When I finally wake up, it’s only because I hear the bed creak as Abbi slides out of it.
My eyes fly open, and there's an awful lot of daylight in the room. “Holy God. What time is it?”
“Eleven!” Abbi gasps. “Can you believe it?”
“Wow. I guess we needed that.” I roll over onto my belly and squint at her. She’s wearing a cute plaid bathrobe over her PJs, and she has pillow creases on her sweet face.
But as I examine her, she grabs for her crazy hair and yelps. “Don't look. I'm a disaster.”
I chuckle against the pillow. “Careful, Abbi. Don't let Stevie hear you say that. If you were mine, I'd have seen you a whole lot messier.”
Her face goes instantly pink, and I realize that statement sounded all hot and bothered. Which is how I feel, suddenly. It’s hard not to wonder what she’d look like in my bed after sex. Especially when I'm lying in this bed, my morning wood against the mattress. Oops.
“Mind if I take a shower?” she asks, grabbing her duffel bag off the floor.
“You go ahead,” I say quickly. “I put a clean towel on the shower bar for you. The pink one. And you can leave your bag here if you want. There’s all kinds of products in there. And I’ll trade you for the bathroom when you come back.”
“Okay. Cool.” She drops the bag. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. Make yourself comfortable.”
She leaves the room and I sink back into the pillow. I can’t believe I slept a whole night in this bed with hot Abbi. I’m lucky my subconscious didn’t give me some kind of freaky sex dream, where I’d wake up humping her leg like a randy Golden Retriever.
For that, I think I deserve some coffee.
