Page 97 of Alive At Night

It didn’t do anything, though. I could take a freezing cold shower and still be running hot for Juniper St. James.

Steeling myself, I walked back into the bedroom.

I should have steeled myself harder.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Juniper did a little spin for me, pirouetting sloppily. She nearly tipped over completely before catching herself with a laugh. “Don’t you like it?”

I fucking loved it; that was the problem. Seeing her in my shirt sparked possession in me even fiercer than on the dance floor earlier. She should get rid of those striped pajamas and wear this every night. Even if I never get to see it again, at least I could imagine it.

“What’s that?” she asked when I couldn’t find an appropriate reply. She pointed at my hand.

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “This is a washcloth.”

“A washcloth?”

“If you want to take your makeup off.” I held it out for her to take. “I know that’s like…important or whatever.”

She walked toward me slowly, waiting to grab the washcloth until she was close enough that I could see her pupils dilate.

“That was very…nice of you. Or whatever.”

I didn’t know what she was doing, but I couldn’t handle the wash of emotion that accompanied her thick voice. I turned around, grabbed my own pajamas, and ducked back into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. When I returned, Juniper stood before the mirror, her shiny and renewed face full of concentration while she tried to pull the bow out of her hair.

“Here,” I said softly, helping her untangle it.

Juni’s eyes followed my every movement in the mirror, and it took everything in me not to look back at her.

Once the bow had been removed, Juniper spun slowly to face me again. It reminded me of what she’d done not thirty minutes earlier. And although it pained me to interrupt the cycle, I couldn’t relive the torture, even though some of it had been bliss.

“Bed,” I said with a grunt before scooping Juniper into my arms and carting her off to the mattress. I dropped her onto it, and she squealed as the mountain of blankets and pillows consumed her. With a huff, she covered herself before peeking out above the comforter with eyes that told me everything.

“I promised I would put you to bed and make sure you got lots of sleep this weekend,” I whispered, a reminder to both of us.

She nodded and opened up the covers, welcoming me to get in. “Get lots of sleep with me?”

I inhaled slowly, unsure I was ready for what this night would bring. But when I turned off the lights and dipped beneath the covers, the comfort of being near her warmed me in an entirely different way. So annoyingly familiar and sweet and perfect.

Once I snuggled in toward her—close enough to feel her but not close enough to touch her—I heard Juniper sigh. It was a contented sigh.

“Your shirt smells good,” she breathed.

I snorted into my pillow. “You told me I smell. Remember?”

“That was a lie.”

I figured it had been. But still, it made me wonder…

“How often do you lie, Juniper?”

A quiet moment passed.

“With you or in general?”

“With me.”

“All the time.”

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