Page 132 of The Re-Proposal

I like it when Clarissa gets feisty. It’s how I know we’re still close. Still connected. The moment she gets too polite and formal, it shows distance. She’s not afraid to snap at the people in her inner circle.

“Cody, you’re… I think you… you’re a little excited.”

“Crap. Sorry,” I mumble, my words an exhausted slur soup. I ease my hips back, not sure what to do about that problem. My body doesn’t understand that Clarissa’s just here in my bed to sleep.

It’s like a caveman.

Clarissa here. Must have babies.

Yeah, buddy. Just give it a rest for now.

I think she’ll go back to sleep, but she rolls over, her eyes parted slightly. “You do that often?”

My eyebrows hike. Is she asking how often I—

“Bring girls into your bed?”

“What?”

“I mean,” her eyelashes slide down, “I don’t expect someone like you to have an empty bed for ten years.”

“I didn’t.”

She goes quiet again.

“But they were all just pale imitations of you. Eventually, I stopped trying and focused on the company.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” she mumbles, her voice husky from sleep.

“It’s the truth.” I stare at her in the darkness. Her curls fan out behind her, thick and frizzy. “I left you, but my heart didn’t.”

Pure brown eyes meet mine. Her smile hits the center of my chest like a gunshot. “That’s weird. You being sweet.”

“I can be sweet. Just not with everyone.”

“Do I count as ‘everyone’?”

I see the soft invitation in her gaze. The point is made clear when she drops her finger on my mouth and traces my lips.

Am I dreaming?

I can’t tell.

She’s acting a little drunk. The way her words are slower. The way her eyes can’t move beyond half-mast. The way she’s touching me. I heard somewhere that being exhausted does the same thing to the brain as being intoxicated.

Is that happening right now?

“Do I?” Clarissa presses.

“No. You’re not just everyone.” I pause. “You’re the only one for me.”

Clarissa gives me a sloppy smile and rolls on top of me. Shocked, my hands sprawl out at my sides like I’m showing the coach I didn’t touch the ball.

She comes up on her knees and straddles me. Through her jeans and my sweatpants, throbbing heat blazes.

Hot, thick air hits my lungs.

I accept her weight with a stunned exhale. “Ris, do you know what you’re doing?”

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