Page 82 of Chasing After You
“You’re seriously not going to tell me what happened?” I ask again, hoping that he’ll change his mind, but I’m definitely just distracting myself from Henry saying he’d gladly kiss my ass.
He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “No, it’s not any of our business.”
I’m sorry, what?
“It involved Duke at my little brother’s football game. Pretty sure that makes it my business.” I stand up, staring at him. I kind of hate how much taller he is than me. Actually, now that I’m standing, I think stomping my foot is childish, but it would be effective for expressing how I feel at this moment.
“Mira . . .” Henry trails off, at least having the nerve to look guilty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have, but now you can be the stupid man on the floor. I’m taking the bed,” I say, walking past him, only to realize I’m still wearing my outside clothes. I have a rule that clothes worn outside don’t touch the bedsheets because the world is disgusting, but I didn’t think to pack clothes. Ideally, I would shower too, but I’m not totally sure I trust myself not to jump Henry’s bones.
“To sleep in the bed, you have to get in it,” Henry adds, clearly choosing violence.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms again. “I’m thinking.”
“Outside clothes?” he guesses, and it’s infuriating how well Henry knows me, yet at the same time, he’s been so blind to how I feel about him.
“Yes,” I grumble.
“The top drawer in my dresser has T-shirts and they’ll probably fit you like a dress.”
“Thank you,” I admit, deciding I can forgo the shower tonight. I look over my shoulder to see him already lying on the floor, his tattoos peeking out from underneath the blanket he took from the bed.
As Henry scrolls on his phone, I change into the shirt and flip the light switch, before crawling into bed without further argument. I’m too tired to deal with Henry and my feelings.
Closing my eyes, a small part of me feels guilty Henry is sleeping on the floor. Itishis bed, and there’s plenty of room if we stay on our own sides.
Whatever. He’s the one who won’t tell me what happened tonight.
Hunter and I made some progress tonight. He was excited about the win and even apologized for the shit he said to me earlier in the week. It was a huge weight off my shoulders, but it still doesn’t fix anything with Bailey. I mean, what on earth is going on with him? Is it drugs? Actually, drugs would make sense. I didn’t have it in me to ask Hunter if things had changed with Bailey because I was so fucking relieved he was talking to me, but would it be bad if it happened to come up at Sunday’s game?
Oh shit, I should probably write down that I need to ask Mom if the arson investigators have turned up any new leads with the house. I’m not in any rush to move out of Henry’s house, but it would be nice to know if they’ve found anythi—
“You are thinking so loudly I can’t sleep,” Henry interrupts my train of thought.
“How can thinking be loud if it’s internal?” I question, giggling quietly.
“It just is, Mira. Go to sleep.”
I roll in the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. God, it all smells like Henry. “If you want to sleep in the bed, you can. There’s plenty of room.”
“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. I’m fine down here,” he replies carefully.
“Suit yourself. I’m making a pillow wall in case you decide you’re sick of the floor. If you do come up, keep your hands to your own side of the bed.” I use three pillows for extra measures, but I hope he saysfuck itand throws them off the bed to hold me.Please don’t keep your hands to yourself.
“Goodnight, Mirabelle,” his deep voice rumbles. I close my eyes as I relax in Henry’s bed, his crisp, comforting scent surrounding me.
“Night, Henry,” I mumble back, sinking into a deep long sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Henry
I WAKE UP with a heavy weight on my chest. The scent of vanilla tickles my nose, and the early morning light peeks through the blinds covering my window. Rubbing my eyes, I clear away any lingering bleariness from my deep sleep. I honestly can’t remember the last time I slept that well.
Mirabelle sighs, and I realize the heavy weight on me is her clinging to me like I’m a life buoy in the middle of the ocean. Her head is nestled into my chest, her blonde waves cascading everywhere as her fingers curl tightly into my shirt. Our legs are tangled together, but Mirabelle is lying on top of me, and I think this is pretty damn ironic considering she’s the one who put up the pillow barrier in the middle of the bed.
She had already fallen asleep when I finally gave up on sleeping on the floor and climbed into my bed. If I didn’t think the flash would wake her up, I’d have taken a picture of her fast asleep, hugging a pillow to her chest while curled into a ball.
