“Using a game as an f-you to my father probably isn’t the healthiest.” His laugh was rough.
“There are many worse possible coping mechanisms.”
“True.” He was quiet another long moment, then rolled again, this time his torso coming across the pillow so that he could press a quick kiss to my forehead. Every one of my muscles froze, tensing as my pulse pounded. I licked my lips, anticipating…
But then he retreated, only whispering, “Alden?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not convenient.”
For a second I thought he meant it as a put-down, an acknowledgment that I was a difficult person. Which I’d agree with. But then I realized that he was referring to what I’d said earlier about not wanting to be a convenient physical interlude for him, and my heart stuttered, my throat tightening around an unfamiliar surge of emotion.
“Thanks.” It was possibly the nicest—and weirdest—thing anyone had ever said to me. I kind of expected him to try to kiss me again. Okay, I wanted him to try to kiss me again. But he didn’t, instead settling back on his side of the bed, grabbing my hand as he made himself comfortable on his back again, this time with our linked hands resting on his chest. Very faintly, I could feel the thrum of his pulse. I wanted to hear his heartbeat, to press my ear against his skin and really listen. I needed to learn its steady pace and to absorb some of his undefinable energy.
“This okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered, trying not to break whatever spell this was. It was more than okay. It was great. Possibly the most thrilling moment of my adult life, lying in the dark with Conrad, holding hands, listening as his breathing finally slowed and knowing that he was falling asleep clinging to a part of me. That impulse I’d had earlier—the one where I’d wanted to be Conrad’s convenient thing, even if only for the night—softened, changed. I realized I wanted to be the thing that gave him comfort for real. Wanted to be a safe place for him. I couldn’t give him back his family, and I’d be the first to admit I wasn’t exactly best-friend material, but he made me want to try, made me want to be someone he could count on. Someone who took care of him, not simply because it was the right thing to do, but because it felt so good to do it. Strange and confusing, but good.
And I wanted more.
Chapter Twenty-One
Conrad
We woke up at the appropriate time, everyone in their appropriate sleeping spots, with no unexpected morning snuggles. Which I was not nearly as relieved about as I might have expected. The only part of me touching Alden was my big toe, resting on his leg, and I took my sweet time removing it as he stretched himself awake, instead using it to trace the curve of his calf. He was more muscled than he looked, with runner’s legs, strong and lean.
“Hey, we survived, right?” I grinned over at him, hoping my eyes didn’t give away how much I wanted to run my fingers through his sleep-rumpled hair, find out if it was as soft as it looked. I’d ended up with most of the covers, and as he stretched, his faded blue T-shirt rode up on his stomach, revealing smooth muscle and a line of crinkly hair. Warmth pooled low in my gut.
“Yeah.” He moved his leg—not away, but almost as though he was playing back, foot rubbing against mine, flannel pant leg dragging against my bare skin. Then he gave me the sweetest, most tentative smile, and my chest pinched. This was why I couldn’t give in to the urge to pull him closer. Beyond the über-competitive, sometimes prickly exterior, he was one of the good guys. He cared. He’d taken care of me last night in a way that I hadn’t been taken care of and listened to in a very long time.
And I knew myself, knew how I usually acted with hookups. Alden wasn’t that kind of guy. He deserved better, probably better than I could give him.
“I should go find the food.” I didn’t want to break this cozy little wake-up, but I was about thirty seconds away from saying fuck it to my reservations and kissing him silly.
“Yeah. If you want to put the bags in the car, I’ll shower and meet you there.” He sat up, yanking his shirt back down.
“Sounds good.”
As he made his way to the bathroom with a change of clothes in his arms, I couldn’t help but noticing that he was—
Stop it, Conrad. I had to force myself to study the bland painting on the wall, not wanting to be caught perving on him. Happened to all of us in the morning. No big deal. Didn’t mean anything. Didn’t mean that he’d been as affected by our feet tangling as me, didn’t mean that he’d wanted to kiss as much as me, and it still didn’t mean that he needed what little I had to offer.