Page 84 of What We Break
17
REID
Iwake up before my alarm, which never happens. For a second I'm disoriented — bed's warmer than usual, there's weight against my chest, something smells like flowers and sleep and her.
Laine.
Holy shit. Laine's in my bed.
My brain catches up to my body in stages. That's her back pressed against my chest. That's my arm curved around her waist. That's her hair tickling my chin, and I don't even care because she's here.
We didn't do anything more than fall asleep together, but somehow this feels bigger than anything I've done with anyone else. The way she fits against me, the soft pull of her breathing, the fact that she wanted to stay. That she felt safe enough to close her eyes in my bed, in my house, with my arm holding her like I'd been doing it for years.
Best fucking sight I've ever woken up to.
I don't want to move and wake her up, but staying still has never been my strong suit. My fingers twitch against her stomach. I want to trace the curve of her hip, count her freckles, memorize every inch of skin I can reach.
Easy, Garrison. Don't be a creep.
So I just lie there, trying not to vibrate out of my skin, watching the early morning light paint her shoulder gold. She's wearing my gray t-shirt—the one that's too big for me and absolutely swallows her—and it's possibly the hottest thing I've ever seen.
It's barely six AM, and I don't have to be anywhere until this afternoon. Spending the next few hours right here in this bed with her sounds pretty fucking perfect.
Laine stirs slightly, pressing back against me, and I have to bite back a groan. Even half asleep, she's driving me crazy.
"Mmm," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Early. Go back to sleep."
Instead of going back to sleep, she turns in my arms so she's facing me, eyes still mostly closed. Her hair is messy, sticking up in places, and she's got that soft, vulnerable look people have when they first wake up. She's gorgeous.
"Morning," she says, smiling sleepily, and my heart does something embarrassing.
"Morning." I brush a strand of hair away from her face, and my voice comes out in a bit of a croak. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." She settles deeper into the pillows, but doesn't close her eyes. "Your bed is really comfortable."
"It's the mattress. Memory foam. Tony said it was bougie, but Tony also sleeps on what I'm pretty sure is a repurposed yoga mat, so his opinion is invalid." I'm rambling. I ramble when I'm nervous. Why am I nervous? She's already here. She already stayed. "Also, I think you might be the first person other than me who's slept in this bed, so. Thanks for christening it."
She laughs, soft and sleepy. "Happy to help."
We're both whispering, like talking louder would break whatever spell this is. The house is completely quiet around us—Blake's probably still sleeping, or maybe he's already up working. But right now it feels like we're the only two people in the world.
"You're staring," she says softly.
"Can't help it. You're beautiful."
A soft blush spreads across her cheeks. "Even with bed head and no makeup?"
"Especially then." I trace my thumb along her jaw. "This is my new favorite version of you. Sleep-rumpled Laine. Very exclusive. Not everyone gets to see this."
"Just you?"
"Just me." The words come out more serious than I intended. "I hope."
She studies my face, and I can see her thinking about something. Processing. Laine's always processing.
"Reid?"
