Page 30 of Make Me Want it Too

“You don’t have to do that.”

He looks up at me. “Huh?”

“Sleep on the floor. You don’t have to do that. We can share the bed.”

It’s no big deal. Yet my heart is suddenly pounding.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I swallow. “We’re adults. It’s not a big deal. I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor all week.”

And now my face is hot. I turn away, not wanting to make any more eye contact as I step past him to get into the other side of the bed.

“I—” He stands and runs his hand through his hair. “Okay.”

He’s wearing a thin white T-shirt and red athletic shorts that hang loosely off his hips and stop staring at his crotch, Macy! Sweet baby Jesus.

I avert my eyes and sink under the covers. Laying my head on the pillow, I force my eyes closed as the sound of Wood sliding between the sheets clouds all thought. It’s deafening.

Then the mattress dips under his weight. I can smell his cologne or bodywash or hair product or whatever the heck it is that makes him smell so good. I can feel his body heat. Hear him breathing. Hear the rustling of the sheets.

My pulse is racing, and it doesn’t make any sense. Probably because Spencer is the only person I’ve shared a bed with in the last six years—or, ever, actually.

That’s probably why. Definitely.

“Are you okay?” he whispers in the dark.

Can he hear my heart pounding? “Yes? I mean, why wouldn’t I be?” Oh my goodness what if he can?

“Just—what Spencer said to you was pretty fucked up. Sorry, I shouldn’t have left you to get cornered by him. It won’t happen again.”

Oh, right. That. That makes way more sense. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” he sighs.

And for some reason I want to reach out to him. I liked his arm around me tonight. The way he would squeeze my hip, right when I needed some reassurance. I liked it way more than I should.

“Wood, thank you for this. For coming here with me.”

Nothing.

His breathing is soft and slow. Rhythmic.

Oh, to be a man who can shut off his brain and fall asleep in seconds. No, I’m awake another hour, reliving every conversation from the evening. Every stare. Every sideways glance. At me. At Wood. Every syllable Spencer practically spat in my face.

If Wood hadn’t come when he did… I don’t know. I wipe the tears away from my cheeks and turn over. Determined to stop thinking and go to sleep. Determined that these will be the last tears I ever shed over Spencer freaking Hayes.

When I do sleep, I dream of warm hands on my hips. Legs entangled in mine. Sweet breath on my neck.

Still in a dreamy fog, I roll over, away from the hazy morning sun, and reach for the other side of the bed. I startle myself awake realizing who I’m sharing a bed with—but Wood’s not here. The bed is empty, his side cold, as if he hasn’t been there for hours.

Fudge! Did I oversleep?

I glance at the little bedside clock, but it’s only barely past eight. I have plenty of time before the dress fitting.

The latch on the doorknob clicks, and Wood walks in the room quietly in the same white shirt he wore to bed and gray sweatpants, a slim black laptop under his arm.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he whispers.

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