Page 82 of Drawn Together
“Not hurting,” he mumbles below me, as his hands reach by his jaw, cupping around my thighs that wrap his neck. This feels oddly intimate for two people—or at least one—who have been avoiding each other the last two days.
With very minimal effort, Fletcher pops up standing again. The height between the two of us has me only inches from the ceiling, and I marvel in the view. Is this what he sees? Is he just constantly staring at my scalp when we walk?
He easily bounces me so my weight shifts evenly on him, and my hands wrap into his hair like I’m a rat teaching him how to cook. I squeal a little when he bounces one more time, faster than the others. I can feel his cheeks stretching to a smile between my thighs.
“It must be nice to be you at a concert; you’d always have a great view. How do you fit through door frames?”
“It takes valiant effort,” he deadpans. “Lift up a panel and see if you can find light from either side.”
“Woah, what makes you in charge?” I tug on his hair, and he groans beneath me.
“Who’s carrying who?”
Well, touché.
Hands raised, I push up the closest drop tile and see there is a small flicker of light between the wires and panels.
“I can see some light above us, but it’s just a small crack.”
“Okay.” He shifts me with his hands, and I momentarily panic.
“Tell me we’re not crawling up there to get out.”
“We’re not crawling up there to get out.” The amusement in his tone tells me that was probably a stupid question, but it felt worth asking. “I just needed to know if we’re in between floors or not.”
I didn’t even consider that for a moment.
“If we’re stuck between floors, what does that mean?”
His sigh gives more of an answer than anything, his thumbs on my thighs rub carelessly back and forth. I lean over him, my stomach resting against his hair just as he looks up at me.
“Hi,” he mumbles.
“Hi,” I mumble back.
We’re paused in this moment, right here—stuck with nowhere else to be, but also stuck in this steady rotation of no matter how much I push away my attraction to him, I came back to this spot.
“So, uh, stuck between floors?”
“It means no one would hear us.”
Oh. “If…”
“If we yelled for help.”
Right. Because we are stuck in an elevator, and not because things are meant to progress further here. Fletcher leans down, shoulders slumping over all our groceries gathered by his feet.
“I’m sorry; since when did you suddenly become John Wick?”
“No one in their right mind has ever made that comparison between us.”
“I’m sure Keanu Reeves is regularly asked if he’s related to Fletcher Harding from Ashford & Elm Publishing.”
He huffs an amused breath, hand reaching up to hold mine as we drop down together in a full descent to the floor.
He’s about to lift me off his shoulders, but he pauses. “What’s poking my shoulder?”
I reach down to my back pocket and slip my phone out, handing it to him.
