“He used to wake me up randomly.”
Every cell in my body startles to awareness.
“Early on in our relationship, before we moved in together, he would call me in the middle of the night.” Her gaze moves to the wall where the blank TV hangs. “It was always under the guise of being thoughtful. He would say he wanted to talk because we were both so busy, and he wanted to spend time with me. He missed me.” One side of her mouth tips down. “I thought it was sweet.” She stops, considers. “No. He convinced me it was sweet and normal. But then if I put my phone on silent because I had an early meeting or plans the next day, he would accuse me of not making him a priority, of not caring, of cheating, even. My need for sleep—any excuse or obligation—didn’t matter because he made me believe I was the one being cruel to him.”
She sips her tea, and I trace the simple movement, roaming over her jawline, her neck, her long, delicate fingers cupping the mug. Her head turns in my direction, her neck resting back against the couch.
“I wish I could punch him again.”
She faces me and smiles, the simple movement lighting her from within. Her bottom tooth is slightly crooked, the imperfection making her more real and somehow pure. I’m knocked senseless for a few seconds.
“I wish you could, too, and that I could join you.” She sighs. “Lord knows kicking him in the balls would be cheaper and more satisfying than therapy.”
Her dry tone is so surprising I almost laugh. How long has it been since I laughed?
She continues. “I can’t figure out how I fell for it, for him. How could I have let him turn me into such a passive creature who second-guessed every move and thought?”
“It never starts badly. Controlling people begin by love bombing and then use their good deeds like sunshine to make the seeds of manipulation grow.”
Her eyes widen. “How do you know?”
The dry words fall out before I can stop them. “I have experience with all the toxicity humanity has to offer.”
I shouldn’t have said it. I search for the pity in her expression, and finding none, I relax, relief curling through me when she doesn’t fawn or try to get more information about me. It’s the only explanation for why I finally answer her first question.
“I can’t fall asleep because I’ve had to be constantly on alert for threats in my immediate environment.” When you’re asleep, you’re vulnerable to those who might hurt you.
She sets her cup on the coffee table. “I don’t have any issues falling asleep, but I can’t stay asleep for long. Then once I wake up, it’s all over.”
“My problem is the opposite. I can’t fall asleep, but when I do, I’m out like a light.”
She shifts closer, the corner of her mouth tipping up. “I bet I can help you fall asleep.”
My brows lift at the suggestion, my body heating almost instantly. “Can you?” My voice is low, intimate.
“I didn’t mean it that way. Now my mind is in the gutter, and I can’t get it out.” Her cheeks flush, and she leans into me, nudging me with a soft elbow.
My brief romantic interludes have been few and far between—too far between. Just her elbow against my arm is inciting a reaction.
“Then what are you suggesting?” I ask.
She takes the untouched tea from my hands and places it next to hers on the table.
“Lie down and put your head in my lap.” She shifts on the sofa to give me room.
I stare at her. She wants my head in her lap? I’m already half-hard from her statement that she can help me sleep, not to mention her proximity and casual touches, mild as they are. If we get any closer, I might melt into a puddle at her feet.
To her, this is just an interaction shared between friendly acquaintances. This is what Piper and her family do—they laugh, tease, and touch with affection. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been hugged or touched in any way other than shaking hands for business reasons.
She pats her lap. “Come on, Oliver. Trust me.”
Trust me. Loaded words. I don’t trust anyone. Not really.
I should resist—snap at her, scare her away. But the way she watches me is sweet and trusting, even hopeful. Her affection is like a drug.
It’s only because I haven’t been with anyone in a while and crave any touch, not just hers. At least, that’s what I tell myself, allowing myself to give in because it means nothing. I turn around and angle back carefully, resting my head on her upper thighs and focusing all my attention on the ceiling.
She smiles down at me. “Close your eyes.”
After a few seconds, I comply.
She smacks my shoulder lightly. “You’re so tense. If you get any more rigid, you’re going to vibrate onto the floor. Relax.”
I press my lips together, trying not to think about things that are rigid, and do my best to ease my tight limbs. It must be good enough because a moment later, her fingers thread through my hair, rubbing and massaging my scalp in gentle strokes. Her thumbs press against the center of my forehead, near the eyebrows, applying pressure before smoothing down and out toward my temples, where they circle for a few long, blessed minutes.
I nearly groan. What is this sorcery? I’ve never felt anything like it. I almost forget how turned on I am.
Once my head relaxes, the rest of my body follows, loosening into jelly, the tension flowing out like water through a sieve. Time ceases to have meaning. Between the press of her fingers, the heat of her body, and the calming scent of tea, I can finally fall asleep.