Page 35 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
Taking a long, shuddering breath, he sat on the edge of his bed. “Kissie, there is nothing in the entire world I want more than to do anything and everything you want me to do to you right now. But the rules matter. They’re important to you. That’s why you laminated them.”
“They’re not that important.” She resisted the powerful urge to crawl toward him and slide her fingers into his hair. “I just like laminating things.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, but she thought he heard him laughing under his palm.
Sinking back onto her heels, she asked, “Are you sure?”
His hand fell to his lap while his eyes fell to her neck, her chest, to her peaked nipples poking through her thin night shirt. “No, I’m not sure. Not even a little bit.”
“I’m notthatdrunk. I promise.” But even as she said this, she had to close one eye to stabilize the two Trigs wobbling in front of her.
“Yeah, you are. Betty’s mulled wine is high-octane. We’re both wrecked. But…maybe. What if…,” he stammered. “What if we only slept together?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve been trying to make happen here.”
His laughter was like tiny, phosphorescent bubbles alighting all over her skin. And maybe she was a little drunk.
“No, I mean actually sleeping,” he explained. “Cuddling. Being close, but notclose. If you know what I mean.”
“Can we be naked?” she asked hopefully.
His jaw clenched so tightly she heard it squeak. “No. Not tonight”
“I think you might be even more of a stickler than I am,” she muttered. But then she nodded. “Cuddling. Fully clothed. But hard-core spooning, okay?”
The wry smile that spread across his face made her wish someone had invented instant sobriety pills.
“I’m the best spooner you’ll ever have. I will spoon you so fucking hard you’ll feel like you’re in a drawer.”
Snorting, she pulled his covers down and crawled beneath them. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
After sneaking a peak at his butt while he dropped his towel to the floor and pulled on a pair of boxers, she rolled over, waiting for him. She felt the bed shift under his weight, and then there he was, warm and solid and—he wasn’t wrong—the most phenomenal big spoon she’d ever slept nestled against.
* * *
When she wokeup the next morning, his hand was under her shirt, cupping her breast. He was still asleep, judging by his steady breathing and the solid weight of his arm looped over her waist.
“Trig? Are you awake?” she asked, tracing her fingertips along his forearm.
He sighed against her neck. “I am now.”
“I need to apologize.”
“What for?”
“For coming on so strong last night.”
“Hmm,” he murmured. “You were a little feisty. Is my hand on your boob?”
“Yes.”
“Oops.”
When he tried to pull his hand away, she reached up to hold it in place. “I like it there, if it’s okay with you. But about last night.”
“What about last night?”
“I was drunk and horny, and you’re so—”
