He changes lanes and
furrows his eyebrows like he’s trying to find something to tell me that won’t give too much away.
“My birthday’s December twenty-third,” he says after a while.
“Really? Do you only get gifts for Christmas since it’s so close? Or do you only get presents on your birthday?”
“I don’t really get gifts on either day. Or at least, not in a very long time.”
Somehow, my soul aches for him. Not because Christmas and birthdays are all about gifts, but because of the way he said it. He sounded like he’d be really surprised to ever get one.
I want to ask him a dozen more questions, but, since I know he’ll tell me that I already got one fact out of him today, I push my curiosity aside, watch him take the exit to get back to the lake house, and eagerly await tomorrow.
“Is that what you call sleeping on your side of the bed, Adams?” I laugh when Haze sprawls onto the oversized mattress carelessly. The day flew by, and the moment I dreaded the most is here. The moment where I have to sleep in the same bed as the guy who’s been driving me completely nuts since the moment I met him.
We woke up so late this morning that we got out of the breakfast restaurant at around 2:00 p.m. And, from there, hours became minutes and minutes became seconds. I only realized it was nighttime when I looked out the window. Time flies when I’m with him.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.” He grins and gets off the bed, sniggering when he catches the look on my face. “I do have to warn you though: I’m a cuddler.”
I’m tempted to tell him that I’m well aware he’s the cuddling type from the night we spent together at the motel, but decide against it. He might’ve forgotten all about our moments—and the way we fell asleep in each other’s arms—but I didn’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Then—because that’s what any sane person would do—Haze rips me back to reality by taking his clothes off right in front of me. As in, his shirt and his pants. This is becoming a habit of his, I swear. All I can do is stand there and stare at his looks-like-it-was-photoshopped body.
“Really? Again?” I don’t tear my eyes away this time. Might as well enjoy it.
“What?” He beams. “You’re lucky I’m even keeping the boxers on, Kingston. I always sleep naked. But for you, I’ll make an exception.”
I can’t help but flush.
You better keep them on because I’m not sleeping comfortably knowing I could turn around and accidentally hit your dick.
“Are you going to get changed or?” He arches an eyebrow and slides under the covers.
I nod and turn on my heels to go to the bathroom—let me rephrase: I turn on my heels to go to the closest bathroom, since there two million in this house—but he stops me with just one sentence.
“Let me guess, you’re a granny pajamas kind of gal.”
I glance back at him. “What makes you say that?”
He turns off the lamp on the nightstand, the only light occupying the large bedroom now provided by the faint moon rays coming in through the window.
“I don’t know. I guess you’re just predictable like that.”
I have no idea why I do what I do next. I can’t stop myself. The urge to prove him wrong outgrows my prudishness and I act on impulse, keeping my eyes on him.
Without a warning, I pull the dress I’m wearing over my head and let it hit the floor. I’m suddenly very thankful that I chose to wear my cute undies today.
Haze’s eyes grow four sizes, and his lips part as he takes in my dimmed silhouette. It’s too dark to see properly, but he sees enough.
How’s that for predictable, Adams?
“I sleep in my underwear, too, but nice try,” I say, my heartbeat pulsing through my body.
It takes everything in me not to pick up my dress from the floor and throw it back on. I know I would’ve never done that in broad daylight. I would’ve never undressed in front of him like this if he’d seen me clearly.
“I… You… We…” Haze blabbers.
His search for the English language destroys my anxiety and makes me feel empowered. He’s not so cocky anymore. I get under the cold blanket, ignoring the heat radiating off his bare chest and the way it so desperately calls out to me.