Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Next to me.
It’s not like I haven’t shared a bed with another guy before, but this isn’t middle school, and it’s not a sleepover.
It is the first time I have cuddled with a dude. That one’s new.
And it’s not like we did it on purpose. At least, I don’t think we did. Last thing I remember is falling asleep with Whit babying me.
Accidental cuddling. It’s no big deal.
Neither is the giant hard-on I’m sporting. It’s morning wood. It’s nothing.
Nothing.
It’s fine.
But … how do I get out of this without waking Whit?
I suddenly understand all those jokes about preferring to gnaw off your own arm than wake a one-night stand. Only, in this case, I’d have to gnaw off Whit’s arm. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
Gently, and while holding my breath, I move his arm away from me so I can slip out of bed and go to the bathroom.
He stirs when I come back. With a soft groan, he rubs his eyes and sits up. “Shit. I fell asleep.”
“It’s all good.” The rasp in my voice is unintentional.
“Are you still sick? You sound horrible.”
I clear my throat. “Gee, thanks.” At least I’m able to sound the slightest bit normal this time. “And fine. I’m sick,” I admit. Allergies don’t usually make my head all … unthinky.
Whit gets out of bed and stretches, his T-shirt riding up and showing a tiny sliver of skin underneath.
Stop looking at another man’s V, Rainn.
“Want me to go get you anything from the store? More cold medicine?” Whit’s eyes rake over me, and while I’m ninety percent sure it’s because he’s assessing how sick I am, my whole body flushes. Like he’s looking at me in a way that’s not just friendly.
But I don’t say anything. Calling him out would be like being the straight friend who accuses the gay friend of being into him, which is conceited and stupid.
Whit knows I’m straight.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Whit approaches and pushes me toward the bed. “No, no, no. You’re not going anywhere but back to sleep. I’ll go get you whatever you need, and then I’ll go home and bathe in sanitizer.”
“It’s a cold.”
“Uh-huh, and last night it was allergies.”
Touché.
Whit asks where my keys are so he can let himself back in and returns in no time at all with a bag full of meds. Maybe I did fall back asleep because it felt like he was gone for a minute.
I take the pills, cough syrup, and more NyQuil off him. “Thank you.”
“Now, give me your number.”
I cock my head. “Huh?”
“Your phone number?”
“You want my number,” I say flatly.
“Yeah. So if you’re sick again, you can give me a heads-up.”
“Oh. Okay. Give me your phone.” I hold my hand out for it, punch in my number, and then give it back.
The way his face lights up makes my stomach flip.
Maybe it’s a stomach flu I have.
“I promise I won’t text you, like, all the time,” Whit says. “Even if I get sent videos of adorable kitties doing cute things.”
“Good. I’m not really a cute kitty type of guy.”
Whit bites his lip. “I’m trying really hard not to make a pussy joke.”
I laugh and begin to shake off the weirdness of this morning.
“I would stay and look after you more, but I’ve already been too exposed, and I can’t be hacking up a lung on the ice.”
I wave him off. “It’s fine. You’ve already done more than anyone else ever would.”
Even though we leave everything on normal terms, I can’t get waking up next to him out of my head.
The heavy arm draped across me was different than I’m used to, but it wasn’t awkward. I think … I think I liked it.
Clearly, I’ve gone so long without a serious girlfriend that I’d lean into any affection. A hug from a cactus would be appealing to me right now.
The warmth of any body would have the same effect.
Maybe I should try to get out there and date again, but the thought of sitting through job-interview-like dinners has no appeal. Funnily enough, bartending bookstore clerks aren’t in high demand on the dating market. I can’t imagine why.
The week progresses, and, as promised, Whit doesn’t message me random shit. He does message me about a car he saw for sale out near his place. The fact that he thought of me kinda kills me, but I have to pass on seeing it because of my stupid cold’s impact on my savings. After missing three days of work due to sickness, it will be a stretch to pay for rent and food.
The closer I get to seeing Whit on Saturday, the more I think about him and what happened the last time I saw him. What if he stays at my place again? He usually takes the couch, but now that he’s been in my bed, will he assume he’s welcome there? Would I welcome it?