Page 45 of So This Is Love

“Fine, we can have it your way but you have to promise me one thing.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

Bryce takes a step closer and my breath catches. His eyes stare into mine and the pounding of my heart makes me want to look away but I can’t.

“Stop doubting that I want you around, because I do. You aren’t a burden or an inconvenience and fuck whoever made you feel like you are.”

***

I was so tired the night before I don’t remember falling asleep. One minute I was climbing into Bryce’s extra plush bed and then... nothing. I rub my eyes in an attempt to clear away the remnants of sleep and sit up in the bed.

The space next to me where I expected Bryce to be is empty. I climb out of the bed in search of my phone when I realize that it isn’t on the nightstand. Exhaustion must have really been kicking my ass last night because I hadn’t even thought about putting my phone on the charger or setting my alarms, I just went right to sleep.

I find my phone in the pocket of my pants that I left in the bathroom. I try to turn it on but a blank screen stares back at me when I push the button.

“Great,” I mutter, annoyed that I forgot to charge it.

I walk back into the bedroom in search of a charger and find one on Bryce’s side of the bed. I plug my phone in and wait for it to turn on. When it does it immediately begins to ding with a bunch of notifications. Emails, text messages, social mediacomments, and direct messages. Then I see the time, a full three hours past the time that I intended to wake up.

“Shit,” I curse to myself.

I leave my phone charging and go in search of Bryce, padding down the hall to the living room. Movement on the balcony catches my eye and I see Bryce sitting out there on a small couch with his back to me. He’s scribbling things in a leather journal, head bent in concentration.

I walk over and pull open one of the french doors, the early spring air is cooler than I anticipated based on Bryce’s lack of clothing.

Bryce looks up from his notebook and smiles at me. “Hey sleepyhead.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were tired so I let you sleep,” he says. “Snoring too.”

“I don’t snore!” I exclaim.

Bryce chuckles and pats beside him for me to come over and sit.

“No, I probably smell. I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth or anything yet.”

“I didn’t ask you about any of that. Come here.”

With a huff I comply, closing the few steps of distance between us. He sets his notebook and pen on the small table next to us and then turns his attention back to me.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks.

“I was supposed to be up hours ago. I forgot to set an alarm.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“Why are you being difficult?” I ask.

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I asked about how you slept, that’s what I care about. Not what time you were ‘supposed’ to be awake.”

I roll my eyes at him and frown.

“You can pout all you want. I care about you, not your productivity.”

“I actually slept great,” I concede.

“I bet you did,” he replies, mimicking snoring noises.

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