Page 30 of I Choose You

“It was for my doctor’s online portal. You know they offer access to your entire medical record over an app on your phone now?” She shifts uncomfortably beneath her covers. “You should check it out.”

I grin at her need to push aside what I say, but it’s a telltale sign she’s uncomfortable about it. Still, I can’t help but push it. “Since when does your doctor want to know your interests and hobbies?”

She pins me with a look, her eyes lighting up when she thinks of an answer. “Since they care about mental health and do those screenings to ensure you’re not depressed.”

I ask seriously, “Are you depressed, Kenz?”

She huffs out a groan. “I’m not depressed, but the screening could catch someone else who is, Mason.” She takes a couple of seconds before she continues. “Besides, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to look over people’s shoulders? It’s rude. Worse than not saying please and thank you.”

She reaches over and tries to flick my ear, but I grab her hand and intertwine our fingers. I snicker and cozy into her sheets, propping my head on one of her pillows to relax. “She did, but I could probably use a refresher.”

“Better call Momma Sacks right away then.”

A deep chuckle works against my ribcage, and I direct the conversation back to that Fish4U app window that’s eating into my soul like a damn piranha. “Are you going to tell me why you’re using an app to date?”

“Nope,” she says matter-of-factly and looks away.

“Why?”

Her cheeks flush. She presses two fingers to her forehead, and her thumb rests on her cheekbone. “Because it’s embarrassing, and we’re not talking about it anymore.”

A cheek rests on my arm, rising and falling with each breath. I revel in the soft skin that’s lying on my bicep. She’s warm and soft, and it’s better than anything else in the world. Her mattress could be a tad more comfortable, but her sleeping on me makes up for it.

I’m unsure how long I’ve been awake. Rather than waking her, I’ve been lying here, enjoying it. When I’m in Texas, opportunities like this won’t exist. Her bedroom won’t be feet from mine, and I won’t be able to climb next to her after a long day at the office. We won’t be able to fall asleep watching Happy Gilmore.

Normally, I wouldn’t be too worried about her on top of me like this, but my heart is like a wild animal waiting for the opportunity to escape the cage I put it in all these years. Almost like it’s waiting for my weak moment so it can slip through the metal bars unnoticed.

While she sleeps, I think about how my fingers brushed lightly against the skin at the hem of her shirt while we watched her favorite Adam Sandler movie. Right before I dozed off, it opened the floodgates, hence why my heart is trying its hardest to convince me to roll her over and pepper kisses along her jawline to wake her.

It’s wrong having these thoughts when I’ll be gone in no time, but I can’t help that she feels like home next to me. Can’t help wanting more of it. My body wants to explode, thinking about the over-stimulation that would arise if I was gifted the chance to be closer to her than this, to feel her, to taste her.

Fuck, what I’d give to do that.

She groans, the rumble vibrating my arm, and stretches her neck. Brown strands of hair sweep over my skin, and I wonder what it would be like if we were in my bed, waking up after a night of sleeping naked. The way her hair would tickle my stomach, eliciting a response from me I couldn’t excuse.

Jesus Christ, I need to get the hell out of my head.

She stretches her legs out, lifts her head, and looks at me as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful, and it takes all the self-control I have not to thread my fingers through her hair and pull her nearby. Sleep circles her eyes, making her eyelashes flutter with each blink. Freckles dot her clear, creamy skin.

“What time is it?” Her words are sluggish as she licks the dryness from her lips.

“Time to wake up.”

She closes her eyes, and her head falls to my arm. “Horrible answer.”

“You should get up.” She would sleep for the rest of the afternoon if I let her, but she hasn’t eaten, and the only way she’s going to get over the fatigue is if she gives her body energy to work with. “It’s after one.”

“I’m not ready to get up.”

As I readjust my arm to wrap it around her, her head moves to my chest. Damn it. It’s so much better like this, and I try to stay focused, but my fingers have a mind of their own, hiking the edge of her shirt to rub the same patch of skin I touched earlier.

This is dangerous territory, yet I can’t seem to stop myself. And she doesn’t either, which only worsens the fantasies I have formulated over the years.

More inappropriate thoughts pop into my head, but I imagine putting duct tape over them in an effort to keep them hidden. No matter how much I convince myself that what I feel for Mackenzie is nothing, I always circle around to this notion, this attraction and need for more. It’s a loop I’ve been stuck in for as long as I can remember.

“You need to eat lunch,” I tell her. “You didn’t even eat breakfast.”

She moans, ignoring me. After she rubs the sleep from her face, she stretches her arm out. It lands on my stomach, curving around to my side. And just like that, I’m holding her and she’s holding me. To her, years of friendship and stability likely come to mind. My thoughts are much worse. More feral than I would ever care to admit.

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