Page 27 of Come Back to Bed
“You don’t have to stay here,” I whisper. It seems wrong to speak any louder than a whisper now, in this rare and treasured quiet time.
“Do you want us to go?” he whispers.
“No.”
My arm accidentally brushes against his when I reach up to push my wet noodle hair out of my face.
“Sorry,” I say.
He says nothing.
I can feel him watching me.
If I looked, I would be able to see the outline of him, as my eyes are adjusting to the darkness.
I can’t believe he came over.
Why can’t you just be an asshole all the time, so my brain doesn’t have to keep readjusting to new information?
I shift my body to face him, the tiniest bit.
He is there, right there, being all tall and quiet and strong and exasperatingly sexy. His arm brushes against mine as he crosses both of his across his chest. Even in the dark, he is so handsome that my eyes and almost every other part of me instinctively wants to feast upon him. After slapping him.
I can hear his breathing pattern shift, and then he holds his breath. I realize I’ve been holding mine too. Only Daisy is inhaling and exhaling now.
If two temporary neighbors kiss each other in the dark and nobody sees it or discusses it afterwards, is it still a kiss?
My chin is tilting upwards, lips parting. I can’t stop it. I think I feel him slowly leaning down towards me, his body only a couple of inches from mine. I take in a tiny breath, and then—
I scream when the lights suddenly come back on and Alanis resumes her rant in my bedroom.
I cover my mouth and laugh. “Sorry.”
Matt is standing still, his arms still crossed in front of his chest, staring down at me. I remember that I have stringy damp hair and am currently wearing a sleep shirt that saysNap Queenacross the chest. Probably not what he was imagining I looked like a minute ago.
Was he ever leaning down towards me, or did I imagine it?
I’ll never know.
Thank you, Alanis Morissette and Thomas Edison, for being such timely cockblockers.
That could have been awkward.
“Guess we’ll be going now,” he says. He picks Daisy up and heads for the door.
“Okay. Thank you. For checking on me. I appreciate it.”
He nods. “Your deadbolt still working properly?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Another nod. “Good night then…Nap queen.”
And just like that, just like always, he is gone.
I go back to my bedroom, to turn off the record player and fetch my phone.
Much to my surprise, there is a text message from Sebastian. All he wrote was:Hope you’re safe at home.
