Page 8 of The One Bed Rule
And he fucking winks at me. He’s such a tease. It’s like we’re both playing a game, even though no one shared the rules or how we determine a winner.
“Seriously, do you need to do like five hundred crunches before bed or something? Don’t let me stop you from whatever it is you do to look like that,” I joke while counting his abs.
He laughs and it catches me off guard. It's honest and authentic and makes me smile to match him.
“No crunches tonight. I just like the gym. I like running. It’s been part of my routine for so long.”
Ah, so he’s a runner. Believe me when I say, I would rather get a root canal than have to run. I’ve tried it—searching for the runner high people brag about—but all I got were blisters, sore muscles, and a level of boredom that’s hard to explain. It's just not for me.
“Also, I like that you’re telling meI’mthe one who’s being unfair when you’re wearing that.” He gestures to me, and I'd be lying if I said it didn’t feel fantastic for him to look at me the way he is—eyes wide, the green vibrant in the hazel, and smirk painted on his lips, pushing his cheeks up. “You’re the one who isn’t playing fair.”
Fuck me.My hands fly to my mouth, happy when I realize it was just an internal thought and not something I actually said aloud. I know my cheeks have to be red with how hot I feel, and I sense the color deepen when Seth brings the bottle of wine over, pouring some into my flute.
“Okay, birthday girl. What’s the plan for tonight?”
There it is again: birthday girl.Swoon.
Looking at the clock, I’m surprised it’s only eight o’clock. Damn, it feels so much later. Full day, that’s for sure.
“We’ve got wine. Snacks…” He looks over to the basket waiting for us on the small bistro table in our room. “Can watch a movie. There’s games in the lounge. Or, we can go to bed early. Completely up to you.”
My muscles are tired; I'm certain I could fall asleep right now but I don’t want to. The idea of spending more time with Seth is too enticing. Also, wine and snacks are always a good choice.
“If you were home, wrapping up your day, what would you do?” he asks, breaking my thoughts.
Using my new vibrator is the honest answer, but not the one I give.
“Honestly? Wine and a movie isn’t too far off.” I shrug my shoulders.
Seth smiles and I’m glad I’m sitting down because I'm on the verge of melting. He grabs his champagne, a few snacks from the basket, and slips into the bed next to me.
He fluffs the pillows behind him, propping himself up, and shimmies his shoulders when he settles in. I look over and I can see his tattoo.
Three numbers, black and bold.
171.
Eight
Seth
Ifyouhadmeplace a bet on where I'd end up tonight, it wouldn’t have been on being in bed with Claire, in random-ass North Carolina, watching a scary movie with champagne in hand. This feels like I’m existing in an alternate timeline.
Never would’ve pegged Claire for the horror movie type, but we’re thirty minutes into Scream, which I’ve obviously seen before. When she suggested it, I simply smiled as she pulled out her laptop, getting ready to play it. It wasn’t what I expected but I think that’s kind of her thing—she’s not what anyone assumes. There was this moment where she almost waited for me to push back or tell her to pick something else, and when I didn’t, I swear I saw her smile.
We slowly sip our bubbly wine and I do my best to steal glimpses of her. Her bangs are tousled, the rest of her hair framing her face as her head sinks into the pillow behind her. Before the movie started, she climbed under the blankets—I followed suit, mostly not to make it weird. But now, we’re doingthis weird dance where we know we’re only inches away but don’t want to touch the other.
It does help that she’s not taunting me in that fucking lacy piece of lingerie—how could I pay attention to anything if that was an option?
Ghostface makes an appearance and she jumps, jolting us in bed, the champagne almost spilling from my flute. She laughs and groans, “Even when I know it’s coming.” Her fresh face is bright and bare, cheeks plump and pressing into her eyes. “I watch this movie more than what’s even acceptable. It’s one of my favorites.” She turns towards me, almost like she could lay across my chest.
What the fuck are you doing, Seth?Dreaming, obviously.
Forcing my brain to pivot from thinking of her hand on my chest, I ask, “How often do you watch this? For real.”
She sighs and covers her eyes with her free hand. “At least once a month.” Splitting her fingers, she looks at me through the gaps.
“Wait, you’re telling me that you watch Scream twelve times a year?” I gesture to the TV, the masked man chasing someone on the screen.
