“You’ll fall off the couch,” he says, but he makes no move to shift his chest from under my cheek or untangle his leg from mine.
“I won’t,” I murmur sleepily. “I’m very good at sleeping.”
“You’re terrible at sleeping. I’ve caught you sleepwalking twice.”
“That’s how good I am at it. I can sleep and do other things at the same time.” I yawn. “It’s called multi-tasking, Jeffrey. But women are better at it than men, so don’t be sad that you didn’t know about it. Probably wouldn’t do you much good anyway.”
He grunts. “What if you sleepwalk off the couch and fall down the stairs in the middle of the night?”
“Why does the timing matter?”
“What?”
“The timing. Whether I fall down the stairs in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, I imagine it would hurt the same amount.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“Exactly. Your argument is flawed.” I yawn again. “Now be quiet and go to sleep so I can put my face in your armpit without it being weird.”
He lets out a soft huff of laughter. “I wondered if you were doing that on purpose.”
My lips curve. “I wasn’t before, but I’m going to start. If it feels right, why fight it?”
“That reminds me….” His body softens against mine as he adds, “We’re calling Andrew and Sabrina tomorrow.”
“I can’t, I’m still sick,” I say, snuggling closer. “You promised we wouldn’t call until I was better.”
“The engagement ceremony is tomorrow night.”
“Soon,” I murmur, my eyes sliding closed. “We’ll call soon.”
I feign sleep to end the conversation, ignoring his assertion that the ceremony is important to his family and that the truth must come out before his brother makes promises he might not be able to keep.
I know Jeffrey believes the truth is all that matters, but there are other factors at play. If I can give Sabrina and Andrew even just one or two more uncomplicated days together, it could make all the difference in their love story.
And love trumps truth.
That’s why people tell their partners they get better looking with age and pretend not to notice when they fart in public. Because love is gentle and kind and unconcerned with who smelt it or who dealt it.
I make a mental note to write that down in my journal when I wake up—I’ve kept a sketching and dream journal since I was small—and drift off, only to wake what feels like a few hours later sitting on the closed toilet seat again, with my fever raging and Jeffrey balancing my chest against his shoulder as he strips my long-sleeved T-shirt over my head.
I’m not wearing anything underneath—bras are for people who are well or leaving the house or care about the perkiness of their breasts in the long term.
I haven’t worn a bra for days, so when my nipples tighten in response to Jeffrey’s warm hands on my bare skin as he steadies me against him, there’s nowhere to hide.
But I don’t want to hide.
I want him to touch me. I want to feel his strong, sure hands cupping my breasts and his cool lips on my burning flesh. I want to know what it feels like to lie in bed with him with nothing between us but heat and hunger.
If I’m going to die of pneumonia, shouldn’t I get to know what sex feels like first?
Yes, Rafe and I had sex—hands and mouths count, and in our three years together, we explored every inch of each other in those ways. But I’ve never known what it feels like to have a man inside of me. When Rafe and I first got together, I was too young, and by the time I was ready, I was old enough to know better.
I sensed that if we took that next step and lost our virginity to each other, we’d grow even closer, so close that I wouldn’t be able to send him off into the world to find another girl.
And I knew I eventually had to send him away.
I loved him too much to let him stay.
But I don’t have time to get into that sort of trouble with Jeffrey. It’s nearly June. I only have until December. Six months isn’t enough time to fall in love or to wreck a man’s life with my death—and that’s assuming we end up liking each other enough to keep banging into next winter.
We might well only have a few days. I sense Jeffrey’s going to be very angry with me again pretty soon. He’s been playing nice while I’m sick, but once I’m well, the gloves will come off.
This might be my only chance, a narrow window that will soon be closed forever.
I wrap my arms around his neck, making him flinch and his breath rush out.
“You scared me.” His worried gaze locks with mine. “I tried to wake you up half a dozen times, but I couldn’t.”