Page 72 of Reading Between the Lines
“I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight. I’m too anxious.”
“Why does cuddling with your boyfriend make you anxious?”
“Because… Because I don’t want to fuck it up, and I… I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know where to put my arms or legs. What if I squeeze you too tight or not tightly enough? What if—”
“Cuddling is not rocket science. There is no right or wrong way. There isn’t a diagram or rules. Just… chase the high. Don’t run from it. Go with the flow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s okay to feel good. Give yourself permission once in a while. Life doesn’t always have to hurt. You can float on a cloud of bliss instead of letting senseless worries drown you. Do you like this?”
“Yes.” His voice was barely audible.
“Me too. You’re doing great. There is no better place than to be in your arms.”
He quieted, and I rested my ear on his broad chest, listening to his pattering heart race. I forced myself to stay awake, always concerned I pushed Diem too hard.
But after fifteen or twenty minutes of silence, Diem’s heart rate calmed. His breathing transitioned from tight, strangledinhales and exhales to long, shallow draws. His tension evaporated. His body grew lax.
I sighed and smiled, burrowing deeper against his chest.
It might have taken hours of pacing, knuckle cracking, jaw clenching, and likely plenty of self-reprimand, but Diem had voluntarily crawled into bed and fallen asleep with me snuggled in his arms.
For most couples, an event like this would be commonplace. Simple. No big deal. For us, it was monumental.
18
Tallus
Diem was gone when the alarm on my phone sounded at six the following morning. I’d slept like the dead, so I had no clue when he’d snuck away. His overnight bag still sat at the foot of the bed, so he hadn’t raced back to Toronto. A slim possibility existed that he’d snuck off to a gas station to buy a pack of smokes. It had happened in our pre-dating days when having sex in a bed had thrown him over the edge.
Sleeping beside me could have had the same effect, but I doubted it. Diem hated himself when he caved to his cravings, so he worked his therapy to ensure it didn’t happen. On the other hand, he’d quit quitting more times than I could keep track of, and I wasn’t privy to a lot of his backstory.
Another possibility remained. He could have gone off to do some investigating without me. Did my comment about the cabin and teenage affairs finally sink in? Man, I would be ten kinds of pissed if that was where he’d gone. What about the man and his gun?
For fuck’s sake. If Diem had gone off and—
The door to the room opened, and my surly boyfriend appeared, steaming takeout coffee in one hand and a Dr Pepper in the other. The brown paper bag tucked under his arm sent a thrill through my veins.
“You went for coffee. Thank god. For half a second, I worried you’d gone back in those woods alone and that Nicholas’s drunken father had blown your head off and fed your remains to his dog.”
Diem’s face did a thing. “You wake up to find me gone, and the first thing you figure is I’m lying dead in the woods after being mutilated by a dog?”
“It wasn’t the first thing I thought. I figured you went for smokes because… cuddling.”
The odd contortion of his features continued.
“Never mind. Is that coffee? Is it for me?”
“Yes. This too.” He tossed the brown bag on the bed.
I groaned at the warmth radiating through the bag. “If this is a freshly baked peanut butter cookie for breakfast, you are crawling right back in this bed, and we are having all the sex.”
Diem’s stormy gray eyes widened, and I chuckled. “See? That expression is one I recognize. Sheer, undiluted horror. I’m not sure how I still manage to shock you.”
I opened the bag, and a waft of fragrant steam greeted me. “Oh, hell yeah. That’s it. Get naked, baby. We are doing the nasty until I can’t walk. This is fucking heaven.”
I tore off a chunk of warm cookie and popped it into my mouth. It melted against my tongue, and I dramatically groaned.
