Page 36 of Promise To Marry You
I look up again in time to see a faint blush accompany an eye roll. The former surprises me, the latter not so much.
“I know, we don’t. But come on, you shocked me, Beckett Donnelly, I didn’t know you had that in you.”
She’s teasing, I know she’s teasing. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, and tell her there’s a lot about me she might find surprising if she’d just give it a chance.
“I was just joking, Cam.” Why does my voice sound hoarse? She’s gonna see right through this bullshit.
But to my surprise, Cam lets it go. “Joking or not, with a mouth like that, you’re going to make some woman very happy someday.” She winks at me before taking another sip of tea.
That woman could be you,I want to say. Instead, I look away. “Yeah. Someday.”
To say I’m tired the next couple of days is the understatement of the century.
Cam sleeping in my bed was meant to be a dream come true. Instead, it’s a nightmare. Because I can’t touch her, at least not when I’m conscious. Apparently, my unconscious self never got that memo. Because both yesterday and today I woke up with my body wrapped tightly around hers.
The only thing saving me from complete humiliation is the fact that she’s been clutching my arm to her chest both mornings, as if her unconscious self also needs to be close.
That and the fact that neither one of us is mentioning the whole close proximity situation.
But I know for a fact that today she felt my morning wood poking into her. How could she not when it was so fucking hard I was aching for relief by the time I got into the shower.
Gone is any reservation I had last night about rubbing one out with her in the house. I’ve got no choice if I’m going to survive living with her for however long she stays.
And seeing her during the day, knowing she’s spent the night in my arms, willingly or not, isn’t exactly a walk in the park. I want to know how she’s feeling about everything, but I’m too afraid to ask. Because even if we only get this close when we’re asleep, the sick part of me that still wants Cam to wake up and see me as more than a friend is reveling in every second of closeness.
My knee is bouncing in place as I sit at a table in Camille’s café, waiting for Sawyer. We’re meeting for lunch, like we do every week. He might be my opposite in every way, but he’s also my twin, and no one knows me or gets me like Sawyer.
“Hey, twinski. What’s up?” He drops into the chair, his signature grin on the face that looks so much like mine. Except I got the bad eyes and need glasses. Good thing Sawyer doesn’t or he’d never have been able to live his dream of being a firefighter. That job keeps him grounded in so many ways.
“Not much, how’s work? Any word on when they’ll announce the candidates for assistant chief?” I ask. It’s part genuine interest, part deflection. If I can keep his attention focused on himself, then maybe he won’t figure out how knotted up I am inside.
“Next month sometime. But enough about me. How’s it going with your new roommate?” The way he waggles his eyebrows at me is annoying as fuck.
“It’s fine.”
Sawyer snorts, and I accept the inevitable. I’m about to get grilled.
Santana, one of the waitstaff, comes over, giving me a temporary reprieve. But as soon as they walk away, Sawyer’s leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, resting his hand on his chin, as if waiting for me to tell him a story.
“Fine, as in she snores and is really fucking messy and now you’re over your crush, or fine, as in you’ve seen each other naked now, or fine, as in you’re already banging, or fine, as in —”
“Jesus, Sawyer. Fine, as init’s fine. She’s living in my house, we’re just friends, end of story,” I hiss in a loud whisper, looking around to see if anyone heard his insanity. “Would you stop talking about us like that?”
“Only if you’ll admit you still want that woman and having her live with you is torture.” He leans back, folding his arms across his chair, as if he’s just won some big debate.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I weigh my options. Sawyer’s not dumb. If I tell him about our sleeping arrangement, he’ll know exactly hownot fineI am. And while I don’t exactly relish the thought of hearing him try to lecture me again about protecting myself from the heartbreak he thinks is inevitable, I find myself overcome with the need to tell someone. And who else, if not my twin.
“She’s having a hard time sleeping, so she started sleeping in my bed,” I say in a low voice. “And before you say it, yes, it’s fucking torture. But I can’t say no to her, so instead, I’m waking up with a fucking stiffy and having to deal with things in a cold shower every morning. I keep wondering if she’s gonna freak out by the fact that we basically wake up cuddling and go back to her own bed, but then simultaneously hoping she never does.”
Letting out a long, low whistle, Sawyer starts to shake his head. “Dude, you arefucked.”
I hang my head in my hands. “I know.”
“Too bad it’s not the fun kind of fucked.”
“I know.”
Chapter eighteen
