Page 60 of Between Us

It’s more or less what I would’ve expected, I think. There doesn’t seem to be a thought-out aesthetic, but much like Adrian’s entire personality, it feels naturally put together. He really doesn’t have to think twice about it.

The couch I was placed on is dark brown leather. It isn’t stiff and uncomfortable like I often feel the fabric can be. There’s even a light gray blanket hanging over the side.

Without thinking, I pull it across my lap and continue taking in the small space. It’s tidy, with only a few textbooks thrown around and a coffee cup left on his coffee table. That’s not surprising though. It would actually be alarming if Adrian was a messy person. It doesn’t fit the personality I’ve gotten to know so far.

The door opening pulls me out of my curiosity just in time to catch the small, smug grin on Adrian’s lips when he sees me sitting here. It’s gone in two seconds at most, but it lights a fire in me. One that settles low in my stomach.

He walks over and hands me the remote. “I’ll get our food.”

“Um,” I blurt out, trying to stop him and buy a couple seconds of time. He turns back, concern quickly morphing into intrigue. “Or we could eat later. I’m okay right now if you are.”

He tilts his head, assessing me for a moment. With an easy shrug, he moves toward the freezer. “I’m good for now.” I quickly realize he’s getting ice for my ankle, but he doesn’t come back to the couch until he has a stack of pillows.

I can’t fight the smile, especially when he grins at me like there is nothing else he’d rather be doing.

When he moves to set the pillows on the coffee table, allowing me to stretch out better, I pull my ankle away, trying to hide my wince of pain.

“Blake,” he chastises, yet when I look back at him, all I see is pain on his face.

“I’m okay,” I promise. “I just know I’ll be uncomfortable sitting like that.”

It’s not a lie. This isn’t my first twisted ankle. Even as a swimmer, I had a lot of conditioning out of the water. Except I would be lying if I said I didn’t have ulterior motives.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches, as I twist my body, so my feet are at one end of the couch. Moving the pillows for me, he sits back and watches me.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks when I don’t lean back.

Per usual, I lose my bravado. Gesturing behind me, I hope he gets the point. I’m almost positive he does but is playing dumb when he lifts one eyebrow in response.

“Sit with me?” My voice is small and vulnerable, even to my own ears. Anytime I’m with Adrian, my walls fall inch by inch.

Without any more hesitation, he moves behind me. The couch isn’t very long. Fortunately the seating cushions are wide enough that with some awkward twisting and stretching—mostly on my part—he leans back so I’m between his legs and gently pulls me into his chest.

Taken by surprise, I relax against him after a moment. “How’s this?”

“Better,” I agree.

He scrolls through Netflix, and I fix the small blanket across our laps. It doesn’t take long before we agree on something, though I’m not paying much attention anyway.

It’s basically impossible when all I can focus on is the strong arms, warm musk, and the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.

At some point, I must have dozed off because I wake up sprawled on my side, with my bad foot still propped up. Adrian’s hand is gripping my thigh. It’s not hard, but the way his knee is also bent underneath holding it up, I’d bet it’s his doing that it’s still where it needs to be.

The other clue that I fell asleep is that Adrian’s now watching football highlights from the college games earlier today.

“I didn’t know you liked sports,” I murmur against his chest, rubbing the sleep out of my eye.

He laughs quietly. “Just because I never played sports, doesn’t mean I don’t like them. My dad went to college on a football scholarship.”

“And he went to nursing school?” I ask, tone thick with genuine admiration.

“I know. I don’t think I’ve fully wrapped my mind around what that must have been like.”

I shrug, noticing the small drool stain on his chest. “Oh… ew. Sorry.”

“What?” He must look down because he just laughs it off, like he seems to do for most of life. “Don’t apologize. Your drooling and snoring were cute.”

I scrunch my face and turn more onto my back. I don’t argue with him. My snoring isn’t bad, but it isn’t non-existent either. And the drool… well, the evidence clearly speaks for itself.

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