Page 83 of Script Swap
Goose bumps broke out across my chest.I shivered.When Bobby reached for my joggers, I caught his hand.“We don’t have to do anything.We’re both in a weird place.I don’t want either of us to feel pressured.”
Bobby nodded.“I want to be with you.”With a vulnerability that made my heart ache, he added, “I’ve missed you.”
“Okay.I don’t want you to be disappointed if nothing happens, though.”
“I could never be disappointed about spending time with you.”
He tugged my joggers off and started turning himself out of his clothes.The golden-olive skin.The big arms.The leanly muscled torso.And, uh, the whole downstairs business.
Something sounded caught in my throat when I said, “What if somethingdoeshappen, though?Just, hypothetically.”
Bobby’s hair was standing up in back from the static of his shirt.He looked young, and alive, and surprisingly wild.And that goofy grin crossed his face.“What if?”
Chapter 19
Spoiler alert: somethingdidhappen.
Not that I’m going to go into it.
Not that I’m a prude.
Not that it’s any of your business.
But it was, to use a word that should be banned from romance novels,magical.
(Is it too much information to tell you that I gave him a high five after, you know,it?)
(Seriously, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?)
Anyway, fade to black.
The next morning, I woke in Bobby’s bed, with Bobby wrapped around me.His breathing told me he was awake, but in that slow, resting way.The aroma of coffee mingled with something sweet and—I wanted to say, streusel-y?
“You’re here,” I said through a mouthful of sleep.
Bobby kissed my ear.“I brought you coffee and muffins.”
Listen, if there’s anything that beats having a magical, uh, high five, it’s waking up to coffee and Indira’s World’s Best Huckleberry Muffins™.While I got myself upright, Bobby brought over a tray with the coffee and the muffins.At least, I thought it was coffee and muffins.Everything was a bit blurry.
“Incoming,” Bobby said as he settled my glasses on my nose.He gave me an appraising look, tweaked my ear, and said, “Much better.”
“I think the contacts might be a bust.”
“Hmm,” he said.
“My eyes are too, um, bouncy.Or it might be the shape.Or maybe my eyelids are too strong.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he said.
“You’re too polite to tell me you think I should wear glasses.”
“I think you should wear whatever you want to wear.”
“I’m going to wear glasses.”
“Thank God,” he said and handed me my coffee.
It was nice to have a slow start to our morning.Even before I’d started running and going to the gym at the crack of dawn (okay, eight o’clock), breakfast in bed wasn’t usually part of the routine, so it was doubly pleasant to lounge in bed together, eating muffins that had almost a full inch of brown sugar crumble on top (the only way to neutralize the poison in the huckleberries), and drinking coffee that was appropriately creamed and sugared (that is to say, within an inch of its life).After I’d murdered two muffins and three mugs of coffee, Bobby moved the tray to the nightstand.
