Teach Me(31)

Then he collapses on my chest, and I hug him close, loving the heady scent that fills the air around us, and the cool sweat that pools between our bodies. We lie there for what feels like both forever and far too little time, until eventually he pulls out of me (which causes another hot rush of our mingled juices down my legs), and collapses alongside me on the couch, both our breaths slowing as sleep closes in.





Jack




I wake up to the sensation of shivering. It’s a little confusing at first, because I don’t feel cold at all. In fact, I’ve never been this warm in my life—a whole-body sensation that starts in the center of my chest and spills out over my limbs. I’ve heard people talk about the “afterglow” before, but I never fully understood the term until now.

Then the rest of my brain wakes up enough to figure it out. The shivering is Harper, still wrapped in my arms, still completely naked, curled into my chest for warmth, though apparently not enough.

For a moment, all I can do is stare. She’s even more gorgeous now, lying bare before me, her hair mussed, her body pressed against mine, completely trusting.

I want to take care of her.

The thought startles me. It’s not something I’ve ever really felt before. Not like this. Normally I date the girl who’s there. Sara sat next to me in English class when we were just bairns. Bethany was the first girl to ask me out at college. Kim, Carly, they just made sense, were attractive enough, turned me on physically.

But I’ve never felt responsible for someone like this. I’ve never, deep down, truly wanted to wrap my arms around a girl and shield her from anything the world wants to throw at her.

I want to do that for Harper, though. Wrap her up in this moment and keep her safe for good.

I should probably start with getting her some warmth, though. Moving carefully so as not to wake her, I slip sideways off the couch, then scoop her into my arms. Cradling her against my chest, I carry her up the stairs—careful not to bump her head or her knees on the narrow walls of the staircase. At the top, I kick open my bedroom door and pad across the bare floorboards to lay her down in the bed. For a moment, I hesitate beside her—should I take the couch, be a gentleman and let her sleep here alone?

I decide the moment to play gentleman with her has long since passed, and besides, the bed will be warmer with two of us. So I crawl in behind her and hug her against me, my arms wrapped around her shoulders, and for once, I want nothing more than to hold her like this as long as she’ll let me.

I listen to the slow, steady rhythm of her breath and stare at my ceiling, lost in thought.

Sleep will be impossible for me now. But it’s almost time for my usual 6:00 a.m. alarm to go off anyway. I don’t know how long we slept on the couch, but it must have been long enough to pass most of the night. Dawn tints my dollar-store white curtains a faint pink, and highlights Harper’s face enough that I can see a faint smile curving her lips.

I wonder what she’s dreaming about.

I have never wondered about someone’s dreams before. It’s a strange sensation. Usually I’m so wrapped in my own head, I forget that the people around me all have complex thoughts as well. I’ve never much cared before. They’re welcome to the privacy of their own thoughts, and I’ll stick with mine.

Now, I wish I could peer into someone else’s head. I want to know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. She told me all she wants right now is a hookup, but then she falls asleep in my arms, totally trusting. Is that something you do with a hookup? I can’t remember any of the women I’ve slept with (though admittedly it’s a relatively small number) ever simply passing out after sex.

Hannah in particular always wanted to quiz me on her performance after every get-together. How did you like when I did this, and what about that move, should we try that again next time? She’d never have just let the experience speak for itself, or drift off savoring it.

For that matter, I’ve never fallen asleep straight afterward either.

My hand moves, seemingly of its own accord, to brush a strand of hair away from Harper’s cheek. Her hair pours through my fingers like red-gold silk. Before I can pull my hand away, her eyelids flutter, and then she’s blinking up at me, her eyes an even paler blue than I realized in the orange glow of the sun.

“Did I fall asleep?” she murmurs, then shifts to stretch. She blinks again, and glances around at the bed we’re lying in. “Oops, sorry. I must have really been out.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

She cracks a shy grin. “I do that afterwards usually. Totally zonk out.”