Page 82 of Common Grounds

Falling is such a terrible thing. We don’t want to fall off a cliff, obviously, and we don’t want to fall down the stairs. We don’t want to fall out of someone’s favor. We do fall all over ourselves to do things, but even that can be embarrassing. And yet, we use the word for wonderful things, too. Falling asleep. Falling into good luck. Falling in love.

I suck in a quiet gasp. That’s not what has brought this on, surely. I’ve known Trevor for, what, three weeks? And, besides, I’m not doing a relationship right now. I’m doing… I don’t even know what I’m doing. But it’s not a relationship. It’s not that for him, either. It didn’t escape my notice that, when I awkwardly asked him about us dating last night, he skipped right to talking about waffles. Which is totally cool. I’m just having fun, anyway. I had only wanted to be sure.

“I can practically hear you thinking over there,” Trevor says, his voice raspy with sleep and muffled by his pillow.

I startle and let out a brittle laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.”

He turns his head so he’s facing me and slings an arm over my torso. He tugs, pulling my side into his chest. It’s a completely natural movement, an innocent point of contact between two people sharing a bed together. But I’m still feeling the raw edges of that dream.

I don’t mean to stiffen, but he must sense something is off because he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a weird dream.”

“Hmm,” he nuzzles my neck, and I can already feel the edges blurring. “We’re supposed to be sleeping in.”

I huff. “I think you’ve messed up my sleep schedule,” I joke. I need more stable ground, so I grab at anything that will get me there.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” He kisses my neck as his fingers rub delicate circles right above my belly button.

My eyelids flutter closed as those edges grow even more dull. I turn my head to his. His amber eyes are clear and bright even in the dark, as if he’s already shaken off whatever was left of sleep. He looks at me like he’s taking me in, drinking me up. My skin heats under his gaze, and a small smile escapes me. He takes that smile for himself with a long, deep kiss.

He flattens his palm on my torso, but I guess I have a ticklish spot, too, because I break into a fit of giggles and curl into a ball on my side.

“Way to ruin a moment,” I say between breathless laughter.

“I’m sorry!” he moans on a half-laugh. “I wasn’t aware the unassailable Emery Darlis was ticklish. I’ll be cataloging that piece of information to weaponize later.”

It’s like my breath is forced out of me. Like all the air is sucked out of the room. I must be the only one who feels it, because my laughter stops in its tracks, whereas Trevor’s continues for a few more beats.

“‘Unassailable.’ That’s a ten-dollar word. What am I, a fortress?” I try to keep my tone light, but even I can hear a sharpness in it.

“No. You’re flawless.” He chuckles again and kisses my cheek, which makes me think I’m overreacting. Of course I am. But words are my business. The right one matters. And I’ve had words like that thrown at me before.

He keeps peppering me with kisses until I’m giggling again and pushing him off of me. “I don’t think you know what ‘unassailable’ means if you think it means ‘flawless.’”

He rolls away and shrugs as he checks the time on his phone. “Words are your thing, not mine.”

That’s true. They were definitely Derek’s thing, too. He knew exactly what he was saying when he said stuff like that. Maybe Trevor truly doesn’t. I try to shake it off.

“It’s almost six. I guess we did sleep in,” he’s saying.

I groan. “Still early. Need coffee.”

He rolls over and kisses my temple again. “You came to the right place. Believe it or not, I happen to have some.”

“Coffee is your thing.” I say it as much for my benefit as anything.

“That it is.” He throws off the covers, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and pulls on his sweatpants which had somehow made it to the floor in the middle of the night. He turns on a light, then stands and looks at me, hands on his hips. His golden-brown hair is standing on end, and the scruff on his jaw looks slightly unkempt. He’s standing there shirtless and in sweatpants, looking all sexed up and happy. It makes me wonder if this is another dream.

He winces and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, I might have brought that whipped cream home from the shop to make you some fancy coffee this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I sit up, letting the comforter pool over my lap.

“Yes. And we might have used it all last night.” A blush starts at his neck and creeps toward his jaw.

I can’t even pretend to be disappointed after the events of last night. “I’m a simple creature. I can handle normal coffee.”

His face lights up as he drops his hand to his side. “I have an idea.” He turns and crosses the small space to his kitchen and starts pulling things down from a cabinet.

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