Page 81 of If We Were Young

What into?

Pyjamas?

My cheeks warmed.

Matthew in a tracksuit, soft and comfortable, with that fabric softener scent, was one of my most favourite memories. My body still remembered that firm cushion he used to make as I snuggled into his side and watched movies. He never knew that I’d be sitting there fitting myself into his muscles and angles trying to work out how well we would slot together.

It was a good job he went to the bathroom. That memory had taken me to some fantastical places over the years, and the flush on my cheeks painted a vivid reminder of them.

Oh Lord.

While I could hear the water running from within the bathroom cupboard I jumped down from the bunk and yanked open my case. A-ha! There was my hairbrush. I pulled out the yoga pants I’d rolled into one side of the case and then cocked my head to listen to how long he might be in the bathroom for.

Too slow.

He opened the door and then smiled faintly as he found me frozen with my clothes in my hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

His clothes were impeccably folded, but I only gave them a cursory glance as I greedily absorbed the sight of him in grey sweats and a tight black t-shirt.

Oh my. Fantasy Matthew in the living flesh.

I had to breathe out, and it took all I had not to bend down and put my head between my knees.

“Are you okay?” The frown slipped back, but softer now, his lips questioning with a quirk.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get changed too.”

“Right.” We edged past one another in the tight space. Once I was past him and locked in the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror.

What was happening here?

It wasn’t a rhetorical question. I needed someone to tell me what was happening here.

Not finding the answer in the mirror, I ended up splashing some water on my face, changing my clothes and tying my hair up into a ponytail. It wasn’t really long enough, but it was better than having it hanging around my neck and getting tangled in my necklace.

I walked back out and nearly keeled over on the spot. He lay stretched out on his bunk, his feet hanging off the end.

Oh fuck.

That T-shirt knew how to hug him in ways I could only dream of.

“Here.” He rolled over and reached for the floor. I saw flesh. I saw actual Matthew flesh.

Another mind snap moment.

Smooth and pale and beyond lickable. I wanted to feel it. Trail my fingers along that sliver of a strip and see where it would take me.

“I have some paracetamol in my bag.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Engage brain—reboot. Couldn’t. It was dead in fantasy land.

“For your headache?” His brows narrowed together, that handsome face with the high cheekbones marring. “Are you okay? You seem flustered.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I reached over and took the packet, ignoring the way his gaze lazily drifted over me, and the touch of our fingers that made my body sing.

“I left you a cheese and pickle sandwich. You still like that, yes?”

“Uh. Yes.”