Page 86 of Stealing Sunshine

“Let me worry about that,” she argues lightly.

I give in embarrassingly easily and let her guide me in the water until my hair sinks below the surface. She dips her hands into it and starts scrubbing my scalp, drawing small moans and sighs from me that I’m too exhausted to be ashamed about.

Too soon, she helps me sit up and squeezes the excess water from my hair. I feel the change in the air the moment her eyes find my bare chest as it hovers over the water, bubbles almost completely gone.

My nipples are hard from both the sudden chill and her attention, and slowly, I bring my eyes to hers, not hiding from the attention.

Her pink tongue darts out and slides across her lips, nose burning red. “Do you love Cherry Peak that much?”

“What do you mean?”

“The tattoo. The bull skull and the word ‘home.’ Is Cherry Peak an important part of your life?”

She’s asking about my tattoo when my tits are on display? For fuck’s sake, this woman is going to drive me mad.

With a huffed laugh, I tip my head down and stare at the tattoo. I designed it myself, but an old friend put ink to skin.

“Cherry Peak is where all of the important people to me are. It’s not so much about the place but those in it. The bull was the only physical thing that reminded me of here that I haven’t already put on my body.” I lift my arm and rest it beside hers on the edge of the tub. “My first idea was the cherry tree.”

She thumbs the outline of the tree on my forearm and leans in close, breath warming my skin. “It’s beautiful.”

“It could use a touch-up or two.”

“Either way, it’s gorgeous. You’re incredibly talented.”

I hide my reaction to her compliment by closing my eyes. “It’s a hobby.”

“Just take the compliment, Frosty. I promise not to let anyone else know that you did,” she teases.

“Thank you,” I say, exaggerating the words.

Silence falls, and I keep my eyes shut, letting it settle over me. With the knowledge that Daisy’s beside me and I’m taken care of, I let the promise of sleep sweep me away.

26

DAISY

I’ve losttrack of time. Night fell hours ago, but I continue to fight my exhaustion, not wanting to miss Bryce needing me. She’s hardly moved since she fell asleep again after getting out of the bath, but what if she did and I wasn’t conscious?

The soft pink pajamas I found for her in the dresser are hideous, but thankfully, she was too tired to notice them before crawling into bed. They looked wrong on her, another variation of the uniform she’s forced to wear at work. All frills and lace and scratchy material that cover too many of the tattoos I now know exist.

My hand began cramping a while ago, but I haven’t been able to stop stroking her head and running my fingers through her hair. The largest part of myself, the one that’s constantly needy for attention and physical affection, is thriving yet still craves more from both of us.

Wiggling my toes beneath the heavy blanket, I strain to make out the shape of Bryce in the dark room. I feel her more than I see her. Steady, hot exhales warm my thigh, and her hand grips my shin, fingers curled even in sleep.

She’s had her head laid on my lap for a long time. A few minutes after falling asleep on the pillow that’s lying cold andempty beside me. I didn’t dare move her, not only because I didn’t want to disturb her but because having her cheek on my thigh filled my chest with a dizzying warmth. Even in sleep, she reached for me. Trusted me.

So, I’ve been sitting up against the headboard, fully aware of the kink in my back and the cramp in my hand because I can’t make myself move.

This isn’t how either of us expected to spend our weekend. After a long, draining week, I was looking forward to rotting the weekend away on the couch. Instead, I’m here.

It would be normal to feel frustrated about that, right? But if so, why am I the opposite? I’m tired and sore, and even a bit uncomfortable being in this house with Bryce’s parents.

It all pales in comparison to the peace I feel in this moment.

I wouldn’t trade this weekend for anything. The thoughtful conversation, gentle touches, and the inside look at the version of Bryce not many get to see. We’ve bonded. Both emotionally and physically, if what happened in the bathroom wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.

God, the bathroom. I can still feel the raised skin on her legs and waist beneath my fingertips. It wasn’t my intention to touch her chest with my arm, but when she arched into it, I forgot how to breathe.

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