Page 50 of Promise Me This
“What—” He shakes his head. “What are you doing in here?”
“You were having a nightmare,” I tell him.
“Oh. Sorry about that.” Guilt flashes across his features. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” I swallow, the rush of what happened still buzzing beneath my skin. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to… I wanted to apologize.”
He stills. “Apologize?”
“For kissing you,” I admit, the words tumbling out in a jumble. “I don’t want to lose this job or complicate your life. I crossed a line, and I’m really sorry about that.”
With an inscrutable expression, he studies my face for a long moment.
“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. It’s on me. I’m the one who leaned in, and I shouldn’t have.” He holds my gaze. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Relief washes over me, followed by something heavier that feels an awful lot like disappointment.
As he shifts, I become painfully aware of how close we are and the hard length pressing against my core. It’s as if we register the realization at the same time. Before I can figure out what to do, he rolls off me and onto his back. I lie there, my pulse thundering, my body very much alive and aware in a way it never has been before.
“I should go,” I murmur, pushing myself up on my elbows.
“Please don’t.”
Surprised, I turn and search his face. Instead of meeting my gaze, he stares at the ceiling.
“I know we agreed to keep things… professional,” he says haltingly. “But would you mind staying here just for tonight?”
I hesitate. The practical part of my brain tells me this is a bad idea. That boundaries matter and I should leave while I still can. Especially after ironing out the previous situation. But the other part of me is unable to ignore the way his body continues to shake. Or the fact that walking away now would leave him alone in this dark room, still half-haunted by whatever dragged him under to begin with.
“I promise nothing will happen. I just…” He swallows hard. “I just want to feel you next to me.”
This time, I pause before answering, carefully weighing the pros and cons of my decision. Staying here means choosing closeness when distance would be so much easier.
Safer.
And knowing that, I still find myself nodding. “Sure.”
We shift, awkwardly at first, careful not to touch one another. I lie on my side, hyperaware of every inch of space between us.
Minutes tick by.
Almost hesitantly, his arm slips around me before he draws me against his chest. It takes a while for his breathing to even out, the tension gradually draining from his body. By the time sleep finally claims him, his forehead rests against my shoulder and his arm is wrapped securely around my waist.
I remain awake long after, staring into the darkness. We crossed a line tonight, and there’s no pretending otherwise.
Something subtle and irreversible has shifted between us.
And I know with a certainty that has settled deep in my bones, there’s no going back to the way things were before.
No matter how much we might want it to.
20
Laiken
I wake slowly, stretching without opening my eyes, my body loose and well rested in a way I don’t usually feel. For a few seconds, I remain still, suspended in comfort.
Nothing feels off.
