“I can hear you rolling around all night, and I can’t fucking sleep.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“You need somewhere better to sleep.”
“I don’t!”
He exhaled. “Story, what the fuck did we just talk about? When you need something, you tell me.”
Story. He called me Story. Shivers like slowly melting snow dripped down my spine.
“Um, I…guess…I wouldn’t mind….sleeping on a bed…”
I climbed up but made sure to stay on the edge. Still, I was only a few inches from being shoulder to shoulder in Grayson Crowne’s bed.
With Grayson Crowne.
I focused on breathin
g.
Grayson lifted his arms over his head. I snuck a glance at him. His black sleeve had ridden up past carved biceps and triceps. The moonlight outlined the pout in his lips, the concentration in his jaw.
I wondered what he was thinking. He always acted like he didn’t care, that his thoughts only grazed the surface, but then why didn’t he ever sleep? Why did he stay up, staring at the ceiling?
“Does Lottie know she’s the reason you have a sucker habit?” He shot me a look, the one that said I was poking in things I shouldn’t be. Still, I pressed on. “I think she’d like to know.”
He made a noise in his throat but said nothing.
“Are you upset that I messed things up with her…again?”
His jaw twerked. “I should be.”
“You’re not?”
He ignored me, and I rolled over on my side, watching him. I think I must have really been insane to keep asking him questions, but occasionally he answered them, and I was addicted to that.
It was worth the burn when he didn’t.
The night wrapped around us like a blanket, and I remembered my mother’s words. Even if she’d been talking about stealing, her words never felt truer than now. In the dark with nothing but the lullaby of waves, my fear was stolen.
“Why do you love Lottie?” I asked.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Nosy.”
“Just with you.”
A wrinkle formed in his brow and he shifted, like something had poked his back. He turned onto his shoulder, and then we were eye to eye. All my breath vanished. Up close, I could see the ridges of his nose. Sadness lurked along the silver striations of his blue irises.
I trailed my fingers along the grooves of his broken nose.
His eyes popped, then narrowed. “You have a death wish, Snitch.”
I can’t stop myself with him. All of my self-preservation flies out the fucking window.
No friends.
No home.