Page 17 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

But, fuck, it feels good. I’ve had so much uncertainty in my life in recent days, and it’s really nice to feel truly at home somewhere. To feel like I belong.

Would I feel this comfortable if Bram were home? Probably not. But that’s a “me” problem. He’s been nothing but welcoming.

When I’ve had enough of the chips, I roll the top of the bag down before setting it on the coffee table next to my soda. Feeling stuffed, I stretch out on the sofa on my side with my cheek nestled against a throw pillow. The sofa is soft and cushy, very comfortable, and warm from my own body heat.

Within minutes, I’m yawning. Before I even get to the “all is lost” moment of the movie, my eyes start to droop. I blink a few times and attempt to keep them open, and I know if I sit up, I’ll be less likely to doze off, but the couch is just too fucking comfortable. I can’t force myself to move.

I fight the sleepiness for as long as I can, but in the end, exhaustion wins.

Doesn’t it always?

Chapter

Twelve

Bram

Iblow across the surface of my coffee, my eyes unfocused as memories of last night roll through my mind, unhindered. I got home from work around midnight, and when I walked into the house, I found the television on, a partial bag of chips and a half a soda on my coffee table, and an undeniably adorable,sleepingwoman curled up on my couch.

I watched her breathe for several beats before deciding to just let her sleep. I could’ve woken her and sent her to bed, but she looked so serene, I ended up fetching a blanket from the closet and draping it over her before turning off the television and taking myself to bed.

Okay, maybe I picked up a strand of her hair and twirled it around my fingers before I went, but fuck, that memory gives me distinctstalkervibes when I think it out loud. So, I’m pretending that never happened.

My thoughts shatter when I hear a noise from the living room. Moving to the coffee machine, I brew a cup for Pressley. Grabbing the chocolate creamer from the fridge, I pour a splash in before adding a small spoon of sugar. Stirring the sweet concoction, I drop the spoon into the sink before walking into the other room.

Pressley is folding the blanket I covered her with last night, and I must make some noise, because she spins around to pin me with a wide-eyed stare.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, moving forward to offer her the mug.

“You didn’t,” she says, her cheeks turning pink as she accepts my offering and adds, “Thank you.”

A few beats of silence stretch between us as she sips her coffee, and the tiny moan that reverberates from her chest makes my skin tighten with goosebumps. I need to get out of here. Away from her, before I do something stupid.

Like…

No, I’m not even going to think it.

Before I can make up some excuse to go, she takes a deep breath and says, “Sorry about sleeping on your couch. I must’ve dozed off during my movie.”

“It’s not a problem,” I say. “You looked so comfortable, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should’ve,” she says with a slight shake of her head. “The last thing I want to do is move in here and take over your space.”

“Really, Pressley, it’s fine. I was wiped out after work, and all I wanted to do was go to bed, anyway. Besides, I want you to feel at home here.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then slowly nods her acceptance. A breath of relief slips through my lips, but that relief quickly morphs into discomfort as another awkward silence stretches between us.

“I should probably go take a shower,” she mumbles finally, then turns and strides for the hallway with her coffee mug still in hand.

I remain frozen on the spot, staring at the now-empty hall while wondering if I said something wrong or could’ve done something differently to dispel all the awkward tension between us. Because while I’m still working on total forgiveness and fixing things between us, I do want Pressley to feel at home and completely comfortable here.

The faint sound of running water reaches my ears, and I perk up, straining to hear more clearly. It’s definitely the shower, which means Pressley is…naked.

Naked and wet and slippery with sweet-smelling soap.

“Fuck,” I mutter, turning and striding back into the kitchen.

I need to get out of here before my thoughts turn to actions, and I walk into her room and…

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