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He lowered my arm to the top of my thigh but didn’t let go. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “I’m watching the movie.”
“I don’t think you’re really seeing the movie.” Our eyes locked, and my heart skipped a beat. “What’s going on?”
I tugged my arm back and he let go. “Nothing is going on. Watch the movie.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, but he dropped the subject.
The comments were fewer this time around and my eyelids started to fall. Each time I blinked, it seemed to take longer to reopen them. Cam shifted beside me, and I sunk further into the couch, closer to him. My side rested against his, and I thought I should scoot away, but he was warm, I was comfortable, and feeling way too lazy to put the effort into it. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind. If so, wouldn’t he have moved away or pushed me off?
I must’ve drifted off during the second movie, because when I opened my eyes, it seemed like the TV had changed positions. I was slow to realize that I had and—oh, sweet baby Jesus—how did I end up here?
Curled up on my side, there was a blanket from the back of the couch spread across me, and my head was in Cam’s lap.
On his thigh to be exact.
My breath caught in my throat as my heart stuttered and my eyes widened. There was a slight weight on my hip, the feel and the shape of a hand—Cam’s hand. Was he asleep? Oh good God, I had no idea how this happened. Had I done this in my sleep and now poor Cam was stuck here because I was sleeping on him?
