Page 59 of Puck Block

I sigh, turn to my side, and try my hardest to go to sleep.

[ 26 ]

FORD

I wouldn’t be surprisedif we are still awake when the sun starts to rise. It’s torture lying in my bed and having to listen to her quick shifting and dramatic sighs.

With every second that disappears into the night, the tenser the room becomes. We’re trapped in a bomb, and if I don’t fall asleep soon, it’s bound to explode.

Visions of her on my bed with her bra half-hanging off her arm gives my spine a thrill, and her ragged breathing across the room is baiting me like no other.

I fiddle with my phone in my palm and stare at the Bex Hex app in the far corner.

It’s bait too.

And it's one I take.

My fingers hover over the screen, and although the room is illuminated slightly by my screen, I still can’t see much of her through the darkness. I have no issues coming up with a visual in my head, though.

Go to sleep.

I grin when I hear her phone vibrate. There’s a second glow on the ceiling from her screen, but I refuse to look at her.

I would, but there’s an annoying presence in the room that’s keeping me awake.

I snort. She’s so incredibly irritating, but I love bantering with her.

You think I’m the one keeping you awake? It’s so tense in here that I can’t breathe.

Her fingers type aggressively. I see her turn to her side out of my peripheral vision, but I stay on my back to avoid facing her.

Well, let me go home, and then you’ll sleep just fine.

Not a chance.

I would rather stay in this room with you and continue being tortured from the sexual tension than let you go off on your own and potentially fall into a diabetic coma. So no. You’re staying in here until we have a little chat about earlier.

She sighs, and I wish I could catch it with my mouth. My stomach pulls at the thought and…fuck.

There’s nothing to talk about.

Like hell there isn’t.

Her phone screen shuts off, and my jaw clicks. I type another message.

You think you can avoid me? I’ll get out of bed right now, pull those covers off your bare legs, and torment you until you agree to talk about that little comment you let slip. Did you purposefully take too much insulin? Why would you do that?

There’s an angry force driving my fingers to type harder and faster. Taytum knows more than anyone why I’m triggered by her irresponsible actions. It’s like she’s gambling with her health, and I can’t understand why she would do that to herself.

Or why she would do that to me.

My nostrils flare with irritation when I read her next message.

Tormenting me won’t work because there’s nothing to talk about.

She’s testing me, and I’m not in the mood for games.

I slowly place my phone down on my bedside table. I can practically feel the disappointment from across the room. Taytum likes arguing with me as much as I like arguing with her, but I’m about to put my best friend’s little sister in her place.

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