Page 67 of Left on Read

“Brain parasites,” he mumbles. He fluffs the pillows behind his head as I crawl up and lie down next to him.

“Gross. Sorry I asked.” I squirm around to get comfortable. “You fall asleep reading about brain parasites? That’s fucking weird.”

He chuckles. One of his hands finds the small of my back. He’s so adorable like this, like he’s lying half-asleep in a cloud. Smiling and happy, despite his mind being full of parasites in a way I can only hope is metaphorical.

“You fall asleep reading Edgar Allan Poe. Thinking about how he died.” He blinks slowly enough that his eyelashes linger on his cheeks every time.

“Yeah,” I admit. “Because how is it possible that no one in the world knows how he died?”

I run my fingers through his hair. Down over his eyebrow. Over his sharp cheekbone and the line of his jaw. He hums, the tiny sound of contentment the only sound in the room. My legs shift so I can rest my feet on his calves.

“Did you come all the way down here just so you could put your cold feet on me?” he asks in that soft, drowsy voice.

“Maybe,” I tell him, in all sincerity. It’s January; it’s cold. He says my feet are always cold, but I don’t care.

“Where’s Luke?” he asks abruptly, like he’s just now realized I’m not actually the person he’s sharing this hotel room with. “He said he was going to the vending machine.”

“He’s with Piper in my room. This was his idea, so we swapped keys.” I won’t tell him that we passed in the hallway on my way up here and high-fived like corroborating criminals. Piper’s GPA improved enough to earn her Beta spot back, and she’s representing our club in one of the state competitions tomorrow.

“What about Esha?” He’s still confused, bless his heart.

“She went to meet up with some girl from another school. She wouldn’t tell me anything about her, which makes me think she really likes her.”

He hums again, this time in agreement, I guess.

“Why didn’t he just tell me he was going to y’alls room?” Hayes asks on a yawn.

“I don’t know. He’s dramatic. Everything has to be something with him.”

“You shouldn’t go along with his plans. You’ll get in trouble.” He shifts, his head coming to rest right beside mine. This subdued version of him does something dangerous to my heart.

“Did I ever tell you about that time in kindergarten when this guy was picking on me, and Luke pushed him into a mud puddle?” I ask him, taking yet another opportunity to run my fingers through his hair.

I don’t know why I said that. I don’t tell him I went on to date that guy for a year. I won’t tell him he might be here somewhere in this very hotel, or that we might see him at some point before this weekend is over.

“Hate that guy,” Hayes mutters on another yawn.

“Me too,” I whisper. It’s a reflex. In the silence they left behind, those words feel like an empty threat. There’s nothing there but indifference.

“And your mom? Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah. She told me she’s proud of me regardless of whether we win or not, and no matter where I go to college. We talked about the scholarships, too. She doesn’t want me to stay in-state just because it’s cheaper. And they all promised to come visit as much as possible, but I don’t know if I want that. I know we were turned loose on a college campus at the boys’ age, but I really don’t think they should be.”

He nods, but I’m not sure he’s really listening. “Good night, Novella,” Hayes murmurs, half asleep. His chin dips, and I feel the lightest press of his lips where my neck meets my shoulder. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” I tell him. My fingers thread through the curls at the nape of his neck. My cold toes curl toward his warmth.

In the dark, he takes over all of my senses. His breath is all I can hear, and I feel every exhale on my skin. I close my eyes, trying to fall asleep before I start thinking about Edgar Allan Poe spending his last days roaming the Baltimore streets in someone else’s clothes.

“Hayes?” I whisper into the pitch-black. He’s probably asleep already. I shouldn’t bother him. I should just go to sleep.

“Yeah?” His soft voice breaks the quiet. His hand tightens around my hip. Another kiss that’s just the press of his lips against the closest part of me.

“Do you think we’re gonna win?” I ask.

Hayes doesn’t answer. His breaths even out, his muscles go slack, and the weight of his arm draped over me is grounding enough to tranquilize my racing mind. I feel his heartbeat slow, and it reverberates a calm sensation through his ribs and into my own.

I realize it then, at that very moment, that this might be the first time I’ve ever cared about something more than winning.