Hannah gasps. "Seriously? Gross!"
"Gramps is pissing himself laughing, and Gran is freaking out because she thinks all the food on the table is contaminated now, and my dad … " My humor fades as I remember the look on the old man's face. "Let's just say he wasn't pleased."
Understatement of the year. A chill runs up my spine as I recall what happened when we got back to Boston a few days later. What he did to my mother as punishment for "shaming" him, as he'd accused her of doing during his rage.
The only saving grace is that Mom died a year later. She wasn't there to witness it when he turned his rage on me, and I'm grateful for that every day of my life.
Beside me, Hannah goes somber as well. "I'm not seeing my parents for Thanksgiving."
I glance over, studying her face. It's obvious she's upset, and her soft confession distracts me from the crushing memories pressing down on my chest. "Do you usually go home?"
"No, we go to my aunt's for the holidays, but my folks can't afford it this year, and I … can't afford to go to them."
There's a false note there at the end, but I can't imagine what she might be lying about.
"It's okay," she murmurs when she sees the sympathy on my face. "There's always Christmas, right?"
I nod, though for me, there are no holidays. I'd rather slit my wrists than go home and spend the holidays with my father.
I set my popcorn bowl on the nightstand and pick up the remote. "Ready for season two?" I ask in a casual voice. The conversation has gotten too heavy, and I'm eager to derail it.
"Bring it on."
This time I sit beside her, but there's still two feet of space between us. It's messed up how much I'm enjoying this. Just hanging out with a girl without worrying about how I'm going to get rid of her or that she's going to start making demands on me.
We watch the premiere episode of season two, followed by the next one, and then the next one … and the next thing I know, it's three in the morning.
"Oh crap, is that the time?" Hannah blurts out. As she voices the question, a huge yawn overtakes her face.
I rub my weary eyes, unable to fathom how it got this late without either one of us noticing. We've literally watched a season and a half of television in one sitting.
"Shit," I mumble.
"I can't believe how late it is." She yawns again, which triggers a yawn of my own, and then we're both sitting in my dark bedroom-I don't even remember turning off the light-yawning like two people who haven't slept in months.
"I should go." She stumbles off the bed and rakes her hands through her hair. "Where's my phone? I need to call a cab."
My next yawn nearly breaks my jaw. "I can drive you," I say groggily, sliding off the mattress.
"No way. You had two beers tonight."
"Hours ago," I object. "I'm good to drive."
"No."
Exasperation courses through me. "I'm not letting you take a cab and walk through campus at three in the fucking morning. Either I drive you, or you stay here."
She looks startled. "I'm not staying here."
"Then I'm driving you. No argument."
Her gaze travels to the two Bud bottles on the nightstand. I sense her reluctance, but I also see the exhaustion lining her features. After a moment, her shoulders droop and she lets out a breath. "Fine. I'll crash on your couch."
I'm quick to shake my head. "No. It's better if you sleep in here."
Wrong thing to say, because her body goes stiffer than a board. "I'm not sleeping in your bedroom."
"I live with three hockey players, Wellsy. Who, by the way, still aren't home from a night of partying. I'm not saying it'll happen, but there's a chance one of them might stumble into the living room drunk off their asses and grope you or something if they find you on the couch. I, on the other hand, have no interest in groping you." I gesture to my massive bed. "This thing can sleep seven. You won't even know I'm here."
"You know, a gentleman would offer to sleep on the floor."
"Do I look like a gentleman to you?"
She laughs at that. "Nope." There's a beat of silence. "Okay, I'll crash here. But only because I can barely keep my eyes open, and I really don't want to wait for a taxi."
I walk over to my dresser. "You want something to sleep in? T-shirt? Sweatpants?"
"A T-shirt would be great." Even in the darkness, I can make out the flush on her cheeks. "Do you have an extra toothbrush?"
"Yup. Cabinet under the sink." I give her one of my old T-shirts, and she disappears into the bathroom.
I strip off my shirt and jeans and climb into bed in my boxers. As I get comfortable, I hear the toilet flush and the faucet turn on and off, and then Hannah returns, her bare feet softly slapping the hardwood. She stands at the side of the bed for so long that I finally groan in irritation.
"Would you get in bed already?" I grumble. "I don't bite. And even if I did, I'm half asleep. So quit looming over me like a weirdo and get in here."
The mattress dips slightly as she climbs on the bed. There's a tug on the blanket, a rustling and a sigh, and then she's lying beside me. Well, not quite. She's all the way on the other side of the bed, no doubt clinging to the edge of the mattress so she doesn't fall off.
I'm too tired to make a sarcastic remark so I just mumble, "Night" and close my eyes again.
"Night," she murmurs back.
A few seconds later, I'm dead to the world.
12
Garrett
I'M ADDICTED TO that moment right before I wake up, when the wispy cobwebs in my brain thread together to form a coherent ball of consciousness. It's the ultimate WTF moment. Disorienting and foggy, with half my brain still lost in whatever dream I'm having.
But something is different about this morning. My body feels warmer than usual, and I become aware of the sweetest smell. Strawberries maybe? No, cherries. Definitely cherries. And something tickles the bottom of my chin, something soft and hard at the same time. A head? Yup, there's a head nestled in the crook of my neck. And a slender arm draped across my stomach. A warm leg hooked on my thigh and a soft breast resting on my left pec.
My eyes open gradually and I find Hannah snuggled up against me. I'm on my back with both my arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to my body. No wonder my muscles are so stiff. Did we sleep like this all night? I remember being on opposite sides of the bed when I fell asleep, so far apart that I half expected to wake up and find Hannah on the floor.
But now we're tangled in each other's arms. It's nice.
I'm growing more alert. Alert enough to register that last thought. It's nice? What the fuck am I thinking? Cuddling is an act reserved solely for girlfriends.
And I don't do girlfriends.
But I don't release her either. I'm fully awake now, breathing in her scent and basking in the heat of her body.
I glance at the alarm clock, which is due to go off in five minutes. I always wake up ahead of the alarm, as if my body knows it's time to get up, but I still set it as a precaution. It's seven. I've only gotten four hours of sleep, but I feel oddly rested. At peace. I'm not ready to let go of that feeling yet, so I just lie there with Hannah in my arms and listen to her steady breathing.
"Is that a boner?"
Hannah's horrified voice slices through the serene silence. She shoots into a sitting position, then stumbles back down. Yup, Ms. Graceful trips while lying down, because her leg is still slung over my thighs. And yup, there's definite morning wood happening in my southern region.
"Relax," I say in a sleep-gravelly voice. "It's just a morning chub."
"A morning chub?" she echoes. "Oh my God. You're so … "
"Male?" I supply dryly. "Yes, I am, and that's what happens to men in the morning. It's biology, Wellsy. We wake up with wood. If it makes you feel better, I am in no way turned on right now."
"Fine, I'll accept your biology excuse. Now can you please explain why you decided to cuddle with me in the middle of the night?"
"I didn't decide a damn thing. I was asleep. For all I know, you're the one who crawled on top of me."
"I would never. Not even in my sleep. My subconscious knows better than that." She jabs her finger in the center of my chest, then dives off the bed in a blur of motion.
The moment she's gone, I experience a sense of loss. I'm no longer warm and cozy, but cold and alone. As I sit up and stretch my arms over my head, her green eyes fix on my bare chest and her nose wrinkles in distaste.
"I cannot believe my head was on that thing all night."
"My chest is not a thing." I give her a pointed look. "Other women seem to like it just fine."
"I'm not other women."
No, she isn't. Because other women don't entertain me as much as she does. I suddenly wonder how I ever made it through life without Hannah Wells' sarcastic barbs and annoyed grumbles.