Page 68 of Make Me Dream of You

Because I want to fuck you.

“Um.” Shit.

“I promise I don’t have cooties. It’s just sleeping on the same mattress. Is it that big of deal?”

Yes. “No, I guess not. Are you sure?”

She laughs and reaches out, touching my arm lightly. “Yes, I’m sure it’s no big deal.”

So now we’re brushing our teeth, in tandem, in front of the mirror in my bathroom. Her in her thin white tank top that rides up, showing a strip of bare stomach and the shorts that barely cover her ass.

And I have to stand here pretending I don’t know exactly what she looks like under those clothes. That I don’t know how smooth her skin is over her hip bones. The color of her nipples.

Don’t get a boner while brushing your teeth, Jesus Christ.

Even the way she spits out her toothpaste is fucking cute. What is happening to me?

We pad down the hall to my room in darkness and quiet—except for the storm. Wind howling. The rain, a constant thrum.

The sliver of moon shining through the curtains puts her in silhouette, the lavender light a crescent around the curves of her hips and breasts, her hair glowing in the hazy darkness.

She slips into my bed, and I follow, like a puppy, hopelessly lost.

My heart thrashes against my chest as I lie next to her.

A rustle of sheets. She shifts, the mattress dips. Quiet breaths. Her scent is all over my pillow, entwined in the sheets and filling up the room. The heat of her body radiates toward me.

She’s everywhere. In my head. In my bed. Inches away. And yet, I can’t touch her.

The wind is a low hum, the rain a tinkling spatter against the windows.

Livvy sighs.

A soothing symphony of sounds. A safeness. Lulling me away, pulling me further into a dark space where I can float into nothingness.

“Noah,” Livvy whispers.

I open my eyes.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“What do you want tattooed on your ass?”

I let out a hard laugh. “I don’t know. Can I think about it?”

“Hm. Yes.”

“What would you pick?”

“Wait—for your ass or mine?”

“I didn’t know yours was on the table.” Stop picturing her ass.

“It’s not—I don’t think.”

“Well, if you do ever want your ass tattooed, you’ve got to let me be the one to do it.”

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