Page 39 of A Christmas Road Trip

Taken care of.

I’m not used to feeling that way.

I really like it.

I wonder if, after this trip is over, I’ll ever feel that way again.

It’s too hard and deep a thought for my current brain capacity, so I let it drift away. Instead, I enjoy the snuggles until I fall back to sleep.

THE NEXT TIME I WAKE up, there’s sunlight coming into the room from the cracks around the curtains and blinds.

I’m still pressed up against Chase. That’s the first thing I’m aware of. We’ve changed positions in our sleep, however. I’m lying farther down his body than I was, and I’m draped halfway on top of him. My cheek is resting on his chest. I can feel his heart beating under my ear.

Its rhythm is faster than I would have expected first thing in the morning.

I smack my lips a few times since my mouth feels dry. But the bad taste and the headache are mostly gone. Once I realize that much, I’m able to lift my head, blinking vaguely around in the hopes that a clock will happen to fall within my eyeline.

“It’s about ten after eight,” Chase says. He sounds fully awake.

“Oh. Okay.” That investigation took all the energy I currently possess, so I collapse back on top of him, trying and succeeding at straightening my legs.

“How do you feel?” he asks after a minute.

“Not too bad, considering. Mostly like I don’t want to move.” My hand has settled on one of his arms, and I idly rub the firm biceps, thinking how nice and lean and strong his body feels.

“It’s still early. You can sleep in.”

I shift some more, wanting to get more comfortable and also feel more of him. My forearm brushes against something interesting beneath his pajama pants.

He stifles a groan and pulls away.

“What?” I ask, lifting my head again and trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m groggier than I usually am on waking up.

“Nothing. But smarter if we don’t cuddle like that this morning.”

“Okay.” I feel kind of pouty about him pulling away, but I’m not out of it enough to try to argue. That would be neither sensible nor mature.

And I’m supposed to be both of those things.

He groans again—softly, like he’s trying to hold it back—as he stands up. I watch as he limps slightly on his way to the bathroom.

He’s uncomfortable, I realize in a burst of revelation.

That must be what’s wrong with him and why he didn’t want to cuddle.

I reassure myself that it wasn’t about me for a couple of minutes until I wake up more and my mind clears.

Then I remember what I brushed against in bed.

I flush hotly. He was hard. I felt him in his pants. No wonder he was uncomfortable and wanted to get out of bed.

I’m wide-awake and trying to hide jittery excitement when Chase comes out of the bathroom, wearing his white undershirt and his worn jeans.

Clearly he’s not planning to get back into bed with me.

His expression is relaxed and natural, and he smiles when he sees I’m awake. “I saw a coffee shop just down the block. Thought we could use some good coffee. You want anything?”

“Yes!” I sit up in bed. “Peppermint mocha. With whipped cream on top. Don’t let them go easy on the whipped cream.”

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