Chapter 22
Ben
I can’t sleep.
The beach house the Blantons always rent has four bedrooms, and Parker and I are in separate ones, obviously, since her parents don’t know that we’ve been sharing a bed in recent weeks.
But it’s been over an hour since Parker and I got back from our walk on the beach, and I’ve been staring at the ceiling for a good forty-five minutes.
Finally I have to admit the real reason I can’t sleep:
Because Parker’s not beside me.
S
omehow in the past few weeks, I’ve gotten used to her warm softness curled against me.
Gotten used to the smell of her shampoo and the sound of her breathing.
It’s just sex, I tell myself.
Other than the few days Parker was all Crazy-Town thanks to PMS, we’ve had sex every damn day. So the fact that we haven’t today? That’s what’s throwing me off. That’s all. Just the lack of sex.
I’m pretty sure.
I hesitate for about thirty more seconds before throwing off the blankets and quietly moving toward the door of my bedroom and opening it. It squeaks. Damn it.
Then I let out a silent little laugh, realizing that I’m acting like a teenager trying to sneak into a girl’s room to cop a feel while her parents sleep down the hall.
And that’s exactly what’s about to happen.
Parker’s door is unlocked, and she must be awake, too, because she sits up in bed the second that I open her door.
I shut it behind me, but then, oddly, I lose my nerve, and don’t move.
But she does.
She doesn’t say a word, just scoots from the middle of the bed to the right side. Making room for me.
I grin as I hurry to the warmth of her bed. To the warmth of her.
We lie down at the same time, heads on our respective pillows as we face each other.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
And just like that, I’m back to feeling hesitant. Shy, almost.
What the fuck is wrong with me? With us?
I’d come in here with every intention of hot, raunchy sex, made even hotter by the fact that we’d have to stay completely silent.
But now that I’m here, just barely able to make out her familiar features in the darkness, I find that I want something different. Something I don’t even have a name for.
My hand slides across my pillow, then hers, until my palm rests on her cheek. My thumb rubs across her soft skin, and I think I hear her sigh. I wish there was a little more light so that I could see her, but I make do with touch as my fingers explore her cheek, her closed eyes. Her lips.
She kisses my fingertips then, just barely, and my chest squeezes.