Willow was curled up in Ethan’s arms, her hair damp
“Yeah, your family is probably getting worried.”
“I don’t want to go,” she said.
Smiling a little, he said, “I wish you could stay.”
“I was so afraid when you called me earlier.”
“Yeah, so was I. Thanks for saving my ass, by the way.”
“Anytime,” she said dryly.
“This is, what, the second or third time?”
“Who’s keeping track.” She placed a little kiss on his chest, right over his heart. “I realized today that I would be pretty pissed if you died.”
“I can’t say I’d be very happy about it, either,” he agreed, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.
For a moment, they were quiet, just lying there together, tangled up in the sheets. Tenderness swept over him and he shifted, lightly tilting her face to look up at him. She smiled softly, her gray eyes brimming with affection, but still with dark smudges beneath them.
A slight crease marred his brow. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
“Of course.”
“How are you sleeping?”
Her own smile weakened, but she didn’t get as defensive as she had. Her voice held no hostility, only patience when she said, “I told you I didn’t want to talk about that. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” he disagreed. “It isn’t healthy. Have you told your counselor? Maybe some sleeping pills would help.”
Willow shook her head mutely, her fingers drawing little circles over his stomach.
“I hate being the person responsible for your bad memories.”
She glanced back up at him, then drew her hand up to caress his face, smiling faintly. “You’re not—not all of them.”
“Even one would be too many.”
“You’re responsible for plenty of good ones, too,” she informed him.
“Oh yeah?” He quirked an eyebrow, almost smiling. “Like what?”
Her voice turned teasing and her smile more whimsical as she drawled, “Like…you being a jealous of a scrawny teenager.”
She finished on a laugh, so he gathered her into a hug and squeezed her sides, smiling in denial. “No.”
“Yes,” she said, a little smugly, grinning at him. “And getting Chinese food.”
“We do like Chinese food.”
“This hotel room—twice now,” she added, lifting an eyebrow suggestively. “That night by the basketball court.”
“That wasn’t a good memory,” he reminded her.
“Part of it was. For me, anyway. I hadn’t admitted before then that I liked
you.”