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He shrugs. “The chair.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t sleep on a chair.”
“You continue to underestimate me, Lockley,” he says, his drawl wryly playful. “I assure you that sleeping on a chair is well within my skill set. You’ll be very impressed.”
I huff out as much of a laugh as my strength allows. “I’m sure you’re capable of it. I mean I don’t want to make you do that. It’ll be uncomfortable.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. This chair is nice. Trust me, I’ve slept on much more uncomfortable bus seats during long trips to away games. I’ll sleep like a baby in this chair.”
I let my eyes fall closed, but I don’t feel myself falling asleep. I could probably do with staying awake for a little while. How many hours have I been passed out for, anyway?
I nod to the TV. “Wanna watch something?” I ask Tuck.
“Yeah, if you want to,” he answers, a flash of eagerness in his blue eyes.
A smile lifts my mouth. “How about picking up where we left off on The Office?”
I know it’s a dangerous game to even hint at anything that happened when we shared that hotel room in New Hampshire. I guess I’m sick enough that my inhibitions have taken a big hit.
And I did really enjoy watching the show with him, the night before That Morning. Since I got back to Cedar Shade, a couple times I’ve really been in the mood to keep watching it. Even pulled up the next episode that we’d left off on. But each time, I just couldn’t click the button to start it.
Remembering watching it lying under the covers with Tuck, laughing together and yapping about it between episodes, and then thinking of watching it alone … it just made me feel cold, made a hollow feeling pang in my chest.
I curl my legs, freeing a couch cushion for him. Again, probably not a smart move. Inviting Tuck to sit next to me to watch something that’s going to remind both of us of that hotel room we shared.
But there’s that lowered inhibition again.
Even though my muscles are weak, there’s one at the height of my thighs that’s strong enough to pull at the feeling of Tuck’s weight settling onto the cushion at the other end of the couch.
Tuck grabs the remote. The fact that he instantly remembers the exact episode we left off on makes my chest twinge in a way I can’t quite describe.
My laughs might be quiet and short as we’re watching thanks to my exhausted state, but I still enjoy it. I’m energized enough to groan and ask, “Are they really going to make us wait the whole damn season for Jim and Pam to happen?” while the credits roll.
Tuck chuckles. “Imagine they make us wait, like, two seasons. Or three. Or more.”
I gasp. “They couldn’t.”
“Wanna watch another?” Tuck asks.
I yawn, but I nod. “Yeah. One more.”
During the episode, my eyelids start to feel heavier and heavier. Sleep is tightening its grip around me.
I suddenly realize that at some point, I stretched out my legs, and they’re over Tuck’s lap. At this point, I don’t even have the strength to care. I just accept it. My legs are on Tuck’s lap, resting on his muscular thighs. Oh, well.
When the episode ends, I let my eyelids fall shut like they’ve been wanting to do for the last ten minutes. I don’t fall immediately asleep, though. I just relax, letting my mind clear, letting all my muscles slacken, feeling nothing but exhaustion, and enjoying the respite from feeling as shitty as I did earlier.
“Olivia?” Tuck asks, gently. “You awake?”
I am. But I’m too tired to answer.
Tuck waits a couple beats, then tries again. “Olivia? Hey, Olivia, you awake?” His voice is louder, more prodding this time, like he’s really checking to see if I’m asleep.
Again, I’m not, but I don’t make a peep.
He places his hand on my knee and shakes it gently. The spark that shoots up from where his hand contacts me, racing straight to my center, definitely confirms to me that I’m awake—but I still don’t make a sound. I’ll be asleep in a matter of seconds, anyway, so what’s the point?
Tuck lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Olivia.” He says my name, but he’s not talking to me. He says it like an exhale, like a plea, like a lament. “Shit, I wish you’d give us a chance.”
