Second (Betrothed 6)

I rubbed my fingers against my tired eyes and yawned. “No…just closed my eyes for a bit.”

“Traitor.” He got to his feet and cleared the dirty dishes off my bed.

“What are you doing?” I was repulsed by him cleaning my mess, the plate with a huge pile of ketchup where I dunked my fries, the lettuce that had been pulled off the burger because I didn’t like any vegetables on my meat sandwich, and the clear bowl of melted ice cream and the leftover cherry I never ate.

“You’re gonna sleep in this?” He set the plates on the tray then grabbed the cherry out of the bowl. He bit the fruit off the stem before tossing the remains onto the tray. He carried everything to the table and set it down.

I was humiliated that he’d not only witnessed my pigsty but cleaned it up too. At least he didn’t wipe off the crumbs. I pulled off the blanket and got to my feet.

He walked up to me and crossed his arms over his chest, wide awake even though it was almost two in the morning. “Please tell me you watched at least half of it. What was the last thing you remember?”

“Uh…” I couldn’t remember any of it at all, but I knew the most iconic scene in the movie from pop culture. “When he has the gun and shoots everyone…”

His eyes narrowed in disappointment. “Goddammit. You know what, we’ll watch it again sometime. And I’ll make sure you stay awake.” His phone vibrated in his pocket, the noise audible, so he grabbed it, checked the screen, and quickly slid it back into his pocket.

I wondered if it was Charlotte, but I didn’t dare ask.

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” He grabbed the remote off the couch and turned off the TV before he walked to the door.

I walked behind him, watching that strong back stretch the material of his jacket. He had wide shoulders that led to muscular arms, and while he wasn’t bulky like Liam, he was lean and cut. I’d always liked Liam’s strength, but once I tried something new, I realized I liked that better.

He turned around before he opened the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

I wished I could. I wished I could call him for all my problems.

He didn’t cross the threshold and disappear. His eyes were glued to my face, and he studied every reaction I made, the slight shift of my eyes, the way I subtly pressed my lips together when I was uneasy.

The atmosphere suddenly became heavy with intensity, and we no longer had the TV on for background noise. Now it was just quiet, quiet enough to hear each other breathe. How long would it be like this? Or would it always be like that?

“Can I hug you?” he asked quietly, his deep voice making my tummy tighten. “Or should I just go?”

Was I a terrible person because I wanted him to hold me? Because I wanted to feel those strong arms wrap around me and suffocate me? Because I wanted to smell his cologne? Because I wanted his clothes to smell like me in the hope Charlotte would notice? Yes, I was a terrible person.

When I didn’t answer, he opened the door to leave.

Instinctively, my hand reached for his forearm, feeling the hardness because he was all muscle and bone. My fingers couldn’t close around his arm because he dwarfed my size, even if he was on the lean side. I tugged him toward me.

He moved with the pull instantly, like he’d been waiting for me to do just that. His arms circled my shoulders, and he rested his chin on the top of my skull. His hard chest pressed against mine, his clothes smothering me with the sexy smell of his cologne and body soap. His grip tightened as he squeezed me, and he held me far too long for a simple hug.

My cheek rested against his chest, and I closed my eyes as my arms held him around the waist. Did it always feel this good? I’d had this every single day, so it was no wonder I lost my mind. The hardness of his chest was distinct, a special feeling I had never noticed on another man. His narrow waist was solid, my hands touching the strong muscles of his lower back. I could feel his chiseled abs because those were just as much of a concrete wall as his chest.

Seconds turned into minutes…and then a lifetime.

His hands eventually glided down to my waist, his fingers stroking my frame through the softness of the cotton. He gave me a gentle squeeze, feeling my body intimately, the way he used to. After a deep sigh, he pulled away. “Goodnight, baby.”

I stilled at the nickname. He hadn’t called me that in a long time, and it rolled off his tongue like it was just yesterday when the endearment last left his lips.