Page 70 of Kiss Me, Maybe

“I think my stomach settled after the one.”

“Good, but I’m still taking you back to my place,” she says. “You can’t drive back home like this.”

I’m too tired to argue with her, because she’s probably right. I’m in no state to drive myself anywhere. But the two of us under one roof, with all our unresolved feelings? That doesn’t sound too smart either.

Thirty-One

After loaning me an old T-shirt and pajama bottoms to sleep in, we fight over who gets the couch. Krystal, apparently, is too polite to let me take it, even for a night, but the last thing I want to do is put her out. “We’re both adults,” I finally say, too tired to continue arguing but not enough to give in. “Your bed is big enough for two people.”

Which is how I end up here, lying next to her, our shoulders brushing on her full-size mattress. But the extra Malibu had one hell of an effect on me because without even meaning to, I’m asleep before I know it.

Sunlight pours in through the gauzy curtains covering her window, waking me long before I’m ready. I’m warm and comfortable, tangled in Krystals arms.

Wait a minute.

I blink against a bare shoulder, barely registering my arm slung around her back.

“Krystal,” I whisper her name, gently shaking her arm.

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes are still closed, but a hand at my waist tightens slightly. My heart races so hard, I can hear the sound of rushing blood in my eardrums. How in the world am I waking up in her arms when we weren’t so much as touching last night?

Stop complaining and enjoy it while it lasts.

“We’re cuddling,” I tell her, in case she’s half asleep and somehow unaware. If she was thinking clearly, maybe she’d want to extricate herself from my body. “Should we—” When I try to roll away from her, she pulls me back into the curve of her body.

“What time is it?” she mumbles, her hand moving up to stroke my arm. Blearily, her eyes blink open.

The clock on her nightstand reads 7:35 a.m. When I tell her as much, she grumbles and sinks back into me. Distantly, I can recognize the trouble I’m in. Cuddling isn’t nearly as innocent as it sounds, not when her arms feel like the safest place I’ve ever been. Not when I’m counting her breaths to fall back asleep like I’m counting sheep. Not when I’m lulled into the best sleep I’ve ever had by the warmth of her embrace.

The second time I wake up, I’m alone. I smell freshly brewed coffee wafting from the kitchen, telling me Krystal didn’t go very far. My head pounds in protest when I try to sit up, and last night’s drinking comes screaming back to me. Something catches my attention at the corner of my vision, and I turn my head to the glass of water and bottle of Advil sitting on the nightstand. I pick up the bottle with a ridiculous grin on my face. Why does she have to be so thoughtful? I can’t afford to like her any more than I already do. I won’t survive it. I palm two pills and wash them down with the glass of water before getting out of bed.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Krystal says, turning to me with two mugs of coffee in hand as I make my way into the kitchen. She hands me one when I reach her. Her hair is down, falling past her shoulders in gorgeous brown waves. There’s a softness to early-morning Krystal, her face clear of makeup, sleepy eyeshalf closed until her third sip of coffee.

I try and fail not to stare at her thin pajama set. She doesn’t notice the strap of her see-through tank top fall off one shoulder, but her breath catches when I tug it back in place. For two blissful seconds, my fingers brush her soft, smooth skin. Goose bumps erupt at my touch, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s my effect on her. If that’s the case, I like it way too much.

“How’d you sleep?” she asks, looking away from me.

“Better than I have in weeks,” I say honestly. “Sorry we ended up… you know.”

“Don’t apologize.” She smirks. “I wouldn’t doubt I’m the reason we woke up like that. Sometimes I wake up strangling my body pillow. Living alone has made me touch-starved.”

“I didn’t know you made a habit of cuddling in your sleep.” I delight in the way her cheeks turn pink. “It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” she grumbles into her mug. “If I ever become manager, I’m firing Luis.”

“Who’s Luis?” She gives me a look that says,You can’t be serious. Then it comes back to me. The flirty bartender plying me with drinks while Krystal’s back was turned. “Oh. Right.”

“It’d be more money. And more benefits, not to mention more experience if I want to open my own bar one day. Like firing handsy bartenders who don’t have a clue.”

“But he never touched me.”

“I can’t fire him for being flirty. That’s half the job description.”

“So you’d make up a fireable offense because you’re jealous?”

Her mouth pops open as if to deny it, but not a word comes out.

“I’m flattered.”

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