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I let out a low chuckle. “No funny business. I promise.”
Not unless you want it, I think, watching her. Because if she did, I’d be the funniest guy in town.
It only takes a handful of minutes to get everything ready. I’m not thrilled about leaving Sadie alone in the bathroom withits granite counter and hard tile floor—I’d never forgive myself if she got hurt—but she’s on her feet, her arms wrapped around her middle, so maybe she’ll be okay?
“You’re sure this is a good idea?” I dim the lights to almost nothing, steam billowing out of the waiting shower beside her.
Sadie nods. “I’ll be okay.”
I spend the next ten minutes pacing outside the bathroom door, debating whether I should call Leandra and have her on standby in case Sadie really does need help, but then I hear the water cut off and the shower door opens and closes.
Nervous energy pushes through me as I listen for any sound indicating that Sadie needs me, bracing for the sound of her falling, or worse, hitting her head, but nothing goes wrong and eventually, she opens the door.
It’s so stupid to feel so much pleasure at the sight of Sadie wearing a pair of my pajama bottoms, the waist cinched up, paired with one of my old t-shirts falling off one of her shoulders.
It’s not like I planned this. She needed something to change into. Giving her something of mine felt simpler than going and rummaging through her suitcase. Or expectingherto rummage through her suitcase. In her current state, my goal was to make things as easy as possible. My clothes were accessible and comfortable andright here.It’s a bonus that they look incredibly sexy skimming over Sadie’s curves. But that wasn’t the point at all.
It’s more of a … bonus.
As though reading something in my expression—hopefullynotreading my mind—Sadie says, “I’m only wearing your clothes because my suitcase feels very far away right now.”
“Noted,” I say. “I won’t let it go to my head.”
“And I’m only getting into your bed,” she says as she climbs in, as slow and bumbling as a child, “because it’s right here.”
“Of course.”
But I don’t miss the way she buries her nose in my pillow and takes a brief inhale.
“Yale,” Sadie says, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt left over from my college rowing days. “Is that where you went?”
“I thought you googled me.” When she glares, I grin.
“I didn’t spendthatmuch time on you.”
I clutch my chest. “Ouch.”
“This shirt is really soft,” Sadie says.
I pull the covers over her shoulders, tucking them below her chin. “I picked it for that reason.”
She hums in appreciation, then reaches out from under the covers, snaking a hand behind my thigh to tug me onto the bed. I don’t bother to hide my grin, but I don’t need to since Sadie already has her eyes closed. She wiggles toward the center of the bed, taking my pillow with her, and makes room for me.
I climb in, staying on top of the covers as I scoot toward the headboard. She follows, nudging her head into my lap.
We’ve done this enough times now that we don’t need words. I know exactly where to sit, and she knows exactly where to lay so I can hit the pressure points in her head and neck for maximum impact.
She really must be feeling terrible to be this desperate. Because desperation is the only thing that would make Sadie rely onme,of all people.
But notjustbecause it’s me. I don’t know Sadie as well as I’d like to—at least not yet. But I sense she’s a woman who likes to do things on her own terms, with her own strength. She wouldn’t like needinganyonelike this.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t soak this up as long as I can. That I won’t commit to memory the feel of her skin or the way her breath catches when I hit a pressure point just right.
It definitely won’t stop me from hoping that eventually, Sadie will stop fighting and recognize whatever this thing is between us. Because there’s definitely something here.
At least, there’s the potential for something. If she’ll just stop telling herself she doesn’t like me. Or believing everything she reads.
Sadie lets out a low moan and sinks further into my lap, her damp hair soaking through the fabric of my shorts. Not that I care. Even if Sadie isn’t willing to admit it, something is definitely shifting inside of me.
