Page 89 of On the Edge

“Whatever works.” Nate shrugs. “I’ll be downstairs. You guys have fun.”

He bumps Henri’s shoulder as he passes and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at me. I scowl at him, waiting until he’s back down the stairs before turning to Henri.

“You go first,” I offer, feeling ridiculously awkward. This is my house. It was my idea to come back here, and this ismyHenri—no reason at all to feel nervous. And yet, the eggshells are scattered about, and I’m doing my best to walk tentatively over them.

“I shall be quick,” Henri promises, and slips into the bathroom.

I wait for him in my room, sitting stiff on the edge of my bed. He’s as good as his word, the shower cutting off mere minutes after it turned on. I stand to meet him, just as he turns the corner into my bedroom.

“Nate is making a joke,” he tells me, and points to his chest. The shirt Nate loaned him has the motif of a riderless horse and the wordsSave a horse, ride meemblazoned acrossit. I pinch my lips together to keep from laughing at the put-upon expression on Henri’s face.

“No collar, either,” I point out. “It’s unnatural, at this point, seeing you in anything but a polo shirt. Who even are you?”

“I am a cowboy,” he replies solemnly, once more pointing at Nate’s shirt.

“Jesus.” I breathe out hard, grappling with the visual of Henri on a horse, tight jeans gripping those impressive thighs. “Now that’s a thought. I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

Grimacing, I snatch up my clothes and skirt past him toward the bathroom. That sounded like I’m expecting to come back from the shower, and find him naked and waiting for me, stretched out on the sheets. God, fuck this awkwardness. Why can’t things just be exactly the way they were before I screwed everything up?

Cranking the heat on the water, I scrub all remnants of clay from my skin. I also take a minute to wash my hair and say a prayer of thanks for how lightly I grow body hair. No manscaping needed, so I’m in and out of the shower in under five minutes. Standing in front of the mirror, I do a quick visual inspection of myself, decide it probably can’t get much better, and walk back across the hall.

Henri’s seated in almost the exact spot I vacated when he’d come in—perched on the edge of my bed, back straight, and palms resting on his thighs. He looks over when I walk in.

“This feels strange, does it not?” he asks immediately. I sigh, relieved.

“Yeah, it does.”

“I have some thoughts,” he says. I snort, takinganother pass at my hair with the towel before tossing it onto the dresser. When I sit next to Henri, he immediately puts a hand on my leg. “I think, because it is too late to be driving home, I should be staying here tonight. And perhaps we might kiss again, and I would really like to hold you, and we could talk a little more if you wish.”

Checking my phone, I note that it’s not yet 10 p.m. “You’re right.Waytoo late for you to drive home. You’ll have to stay. No more talking though, because I think I’m going to have an allergic reaction if we continue.”

We crawl into bed, sliding below the sheets and wordlessly rolling onto our sides to face each other. Without even making a conscious decision to do so, I reach a hand out to slide my fingers into his hair. He groans at the contact, leaning forward and kissing me.

“Atlas,” he whispers, rolling me so I’m on my back and he’s on top of me.

“I missed you,” I whisper back, eliciting another groan.

“Ich habe dich mehr vermisst,” he says, barely getting the words out before his mouth presses against mine with greater urgency.

Fuck it. I slide one hand under his shirt and up his back, refamiliarizing myself with the softness of his skin and the planes of his muscles. He rocks against me, the movement so gentle it’s barely movement at all.

“Atlas,” he repeats.

“Go on,” I tell him. Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the feel of his hair and the weight of him, pressing me down as he rocks his hips. I catch a whiff of his hair when he kisses a careful line across my cheekbone.

He still smells like lemons.

I barely sleepthrough the night, constantly waking up and reaching across the bed to make sure Henri was still there. He was.

And there he is now, still sleeping peacefully despite the morning light filtering through my small window. One of his legs is resting between mine, hair rough against the inside of my thigh. His bare shoulder is just visible above the blanket, which is pulled up under his chin and held tight in a fist. I hadn’t expected open wheel night to go the way it did, but I sure as hell don’t have any complaints.

Regretting that we can’t laze around in bed all day, I put a hand to Henri’s hair. He comes awake almost immediately, one eye slitting open and a quick smile on his lips.Happy to see me, I note, and relax a little bit. It’s going to take some getting used to on my part, being given so much selfless affection and feeling as though I deserve it.

“Good morning, Bärchen.”

“Morning. Sleep okay?”

“I did, yes. I slept very well. I have not slept this well in many months.”

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