Page 24 of Run, Run, Roommates
“Deal.”
13
Marco
When my alarm goes off the next day, the soft buzzing of my smartwatch waking me up, I roll over and look at Brin, just like I do most mornings.
Last night’s kissing debacle definitely infused some weirdness between us, but it was nothing a little space couldn’t fix. Brin went to work and I ordered kung pao chicken and watched an action movie.
I’m not a total monster who would take advantage of his roommate. I didn’t irreparably damage my friendship with Brin, even if I lay awake in bed thinking about that kiss—the way her lips felt on mine, how she opened up to me, her smell . . .
And the fact that she’d never had sex before.
I dreamed about kissing her more and exploring how far she’d want to go.
And woke up hard.
Totally fine. We’ll get over it, rack up a bunch of points today, and be right back to normal.
Despite the chill in the air, her covers are halfway down her body, exposing her white tank top and peaked nipples.
God, why am I always noticing her nipples?
There’s a slip of skin showing above the waistband of her boxers that she wears to bed—she pulled out her holiday ones the day after Thanksgiving, and today’s have candy canes and mistletoe on a bright green background. Her hair is a red halo around her face, and one arm is thrown over her head while she breathes softly.
Most mornings when I wake up before her, I tiptoe around, picking up the clothes I set out the night before and sneaking into the bathroom down the hall for my daily quiet jerk-off ritual before I get ready for the day. But today I sit up, putting my feet on the floor and noisily stretching, overexaggerating my yawn.
I’ve never had to wake her up before. We both have our own schedules, our own independence, so this is new territory.
Brin stirs but doesn’t wake.
I crouch down to eye level, the cotton of my sweatpants straining over my thighs. “Brin,” I say softly. “It’s six. Time to wake up.”
I’ve never been this close to a sleeping Brin.
She sighs and turns to her side, curling up and pushing her face into the pillow.
“Brin.” I’m louder now, and I run my hand up her arm to her shoulder and cup it.
She grunts.
I shake her gently.
“Naaa . . . whaaa . . . fuuuu?” One arm reaches out from under the pillow and lightly pops me in the face. I sputter while she feels around, as if looking for a snooze button. Not finding one, her hand settles on my shoulder, curling around the bare muscle and pulling me closer.
She finally turns her face toward me and I see one sky-blue eye crack open and blink at me. I tilt my head, matching the angle of hers.
“Marco?” Her hand squeezes and then drops, fingers trailing over my pec and through the hair on my chest. She makes a soft little noise, a hum, and something curls inside my gut.
Her fingers trace lower, and lower . . .
Her eyes are closed again, and her hand drops to dangle off the bed.
I sigh, and then I grab her hand and shake it back and forth. “Brin!”
Her eyes fly open and I drop her hand. She blinks at me for a moment before turning onto her back to stretch. Cool air floods in where her touch had been and I instantly miss it. But when she’s done stretching, she turns to face me again. “What time is it?” She blinks.
“Six,” I repeat. “Remember, we’re watching the sun rise for the scavenger hunt?”
