Page 46 of When It's Us
Hutch clicks off the light and climbs in next to me without hesitation. An involuntary shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature in the van, and everything to do with the solid wall of muscle crowded into my space. His space. Whatever.
“Not Ideal, and it’ll be a tight fit, but we’ll make it work until I can get the roof patched up tomorrow,” Hutch says and lays back.
Our bodies are pressed together from shoulder to hip, and the heat radiating off him feels amazing as another gust of wind howls outside.
I try to imagine an imaginary line and stay on my side of it. But it’s no use. Being this close to him, his scent surrounding me, the hard planes of his body right up against mine, does nothing to keep my body from reacting to his.
I quietly take a deep breath, laying on my back, staring up into the darkness before letting it out slowly. What is happening to me? Yesterday I would have jumped from the moving van before sharing a bed with this man, and now here I am hoping that he isn’t able to fix the canvas and that we’ll be forced to sleep together for the rest of the trip.
A flash of lightning lights up the cab on my side, due to the open curtains, and another crack of thunder makes me jump.
I feel Hutch’s rumbled chuckle vibrate the bed as much as I hear it. “Afraid of thunder?”
“No,” I say, shifting, trying to get comfortable. “Just startled me.”
Hutch shifts and lets out a sigh. “Listen, I know you probably had no intention of being the little spoon tonight, but there is no way I’m going to be able to sleep on my back all night.”
“Oh, thank God,” I say, turning my head on the pillow to look at him in the moonlight filtering in as he shifts to face me, “but who says you get to be the big spoon?”
He chuckles and it lights me up. “My van, my choice of utensil size.”
I let out a light laugh and relax into the pillows as he turns onto his side.
My mind drifts to that first night at Wren’s, then again at her wedding at Hayes Ranch. Would it really be such a bad thing to give in for one night? Shut off all the noise and bickering and pretend he isn’t who he is and I’m not who I am? We’ve made a lot of progress the last couple of days. We can be two people sleeping in the same bed, with no expectations or worries about what happens tomorrow?
Hutch shifts, and unfortunately—or fortunately—if you ask my traitorous vagina, the action puts his large frame right at my back and his hand resting on my hip. I stiffen at his touch.
And suddenly, sleeping together platonically seems anything but easy. Okay, and I can still feel his mouth on me. Why hasn’t he tried anything else? Maybe he realizes it’s probably not a good idea.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low near my ear, and suddenly I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Another chuckle shakes the bed when I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to keep myself from thinking about him pressed against me. “Relax, California. We’re sleeping. Unless you have something else in mind?”
The amusement in his tone snaps me out of it and I shove my elbow backward into his gut with a smile. His answering ‘oof’is satisfaction enough, and I let my eyes slide closed, forcing my muscles to relax.
I wish I could say it makes me uncomfortable when he wraps a big palm around my waist and pulls me back against him, but it doesn’t.
Ginger
Mymindisgroggy,eyelids heavy when I blink them open, like I didn’t sleep well. The air is chilly on my arms—which feel heavy too, like I’ve worked out hard, but that can’t be right… I hate sweating—but under the covers, I’m surprisingly cozy.
Wait…whyam I so warm?
I force open an eyelid and, without moving my head, the other sleep-blurred eye opens before drifting in the filtered early-morning light.
And realize my face is smashed against a solid wall of muscle.
My heart rate kicks up as my brain slowly comes online. Like the drip of molasses, bits and pieces slowly break through the haze of sleep. The ziplines. Rappelling. Hiking.Tequila.And a lot of it. Then water, wet bedding, shivering in the dim light, dwarfed by my six-foot-six travelling companion in nothing but skintight navy boxer briefs. A soft command to get into his bed without arguing.
Hutch.
My eyes go wide at the expanse of tattoos before me, and one—yes, one—perfectly pink nipple is the delicious cherry on top of one softly rounded pectoral muscle. Because, from the looks of things, my cheek is currently residing on top of the other one. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Jesus.Pleasedon’t let me be drooling.
My mind wills me to sit up, get out of this bed and act like nothing happened. Well, technically, nothing did. I mean, not that I remember. Shit. Did I have that much to drink that I blocked it out?
Did we?
