Page 71 of A Violet Obsession

All of it.

I miss hugs. I had the biggest crush on you. Teach me how to —

Oh, no.

Oh, God!

I lie still while every mortifying memory rolls in my head—my hand on his chest, the way I climbed into his lap practically begging him to have sex with me.

I mean, I planned on asking him, but I’d like to think that if I wasn’t stuffed full of magic mushrooms, I wouldn’t have been so aggressive about it.

Hands on my face, telling me to stop, to wait.

I want to die.

And after all that… Now, I’m wrapped around him with a knee hooked over his thigh and his arm across my waist beneath the blankets.

Get up.

I don’t move.

I’m wearing his hoodie, but I don’t remember putting it on.

My eyes drift to his face.

Finn asleep is almost better than Finn awake. Awake, every expression is measured, every movement deliberate. Asleep, the hard edges have softened, letting me see the boy I used to know, and making me want all kinds of things I’ll never have.

No, I need to be happy with what he can give me. And hopefully, that’s going to involve him taking off his clothes.

Hera lowers her head and sniffs his chin.

“No,” I whisper warningly.

Hera is a contrary cat, and with an arch look at me, she rubs her face along his jaw with a throaty murmur of ownership.

Finn’s fingers flex against my back. My pulse trips.

He doesn’t feel this, I tell myself, forcing the reminder through the sleep-warm fog. He still sees Emma’s friend. He sees someone to protect. That is not the same as wanting.

Except.

Something has shifted between us, and I can feel the hints of it even if I don’t quite trust myself to believe it. Finn didn’t laugh at me when I attempted to molest him, and the way he talked me to sleep… That has to mean something, right?

I’ll panic about it later. Right now, my bladder is the more urgent problem.

I close my eyes for one miserable second. I can hold it, I don’t want to leave this warm cocoon.

Apparently, that’s not an option.

“Keep my spot warm,” I whisper to Hera. She blinks at me. “I’m not being weird. You’re being weird.”

The cold seeps under the blankets the instant I pull them away. I lift his arm off me one slow inch at a time, holding my breath when his fingers drag across my waist before they fall to the mattress.

Still asleep. For a man who spent a decade in war zones, he sleeps more soundly than I expected.

The room is dim with the diluted brightness only snow makes, pale light pressing in around the curtains. The power’s still out, the clock on the dresser is dark, and the cabin is too quiet without the hum of the heat.

When I open the bathroom door, the bed is empty.