Page 130 of Mr. Hook-up

The only thing I had left was my desire to sleep.

“That’s everything I want,” I told him.

He gently slid out of me and dropped my legs from around him and got out of the tub. Once his feet hit the floor, he gave me his hand, helping me step out. He then grabbed two towels, one that he wrapped around me, the other for himself.

Now that we weren’t in the warm water, I realized how cold the air was inside the tent. There was no heater, no fire, the canvas too thin to stop the cool from entering.

I needed layers.

I needed the drips to dry from my skin.

I wiped off as best as I could and rushed over to the cabinet where I’d stored our clothes. Just as I was reaching for a sweatshirt, he came up behind me.

His mouth went to my neck, his hand to my stomach. “You’re sleeping naked tonight.”

“Easton ... it’s freezing.”

“I’ll keep you warm.”

I turned around to face him.

“I want to be able to feel you in the middle of the night, Drake. To have your skin at my access whenever I want it.” As I searched his eyes, he added, “I won’t let you shiver. I promise.”

A request I absolutely couldn’t deny.

He unhooked the towel from around me and flung it toward the bathtub and led me to our bed.

We climbed in and my face went to his chest. His arms circled around me, the heavy blanket weighing on top of us. The heat from his skin instantly started to warm me.

I took out my messy bun and he began to play with my hair, running his fingers through it. A calmness entered my body, a weight sitting on top of my eyes, making them want to close.

Silence ticked between us.

Until I tilted my head up to look at him, the nearby lantern giving off just enough light that his features were revealed. “This was the best day.”

“It was.”

“And the best night ever.” I pushed higher and connected our lips.

When he pulled away, he said, “Our days and nights are only going to get better.”

“Impossible.”

“Do you trust me?”

I smiled. “Always.”

“Then believe me when I say that.”

The room turned quiet again.

And then I heard, “I love you, Drake.”

The first time he’d spoken those words was earlier that day, when we’d been sitting in the Adirondack chairs outside, viewing the mountains. A feeling had come over me when I’d processed what he’d said, when that admission had settled in my chest, when the same words worked their way through my throat, and I’d finally voiced them.

The same thing happened again.

But this time, deeper.

---