Page 74 of Road Trip to Forever
“Less now,” I say.
“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Like everything else Patrick says, I believe him.
My eyes close, and I drift toward unconsciousness. All the while, his grip around me never wanes. There’s a lucid moment between sleeping and dreaming, fantasy and reality. A tiny window of time where I’m aware enough to know that this position, the two of us woven together, feels more like home than my any room in my apartment.
It’s a place I never want to leave.
* * *
I wakeseveral times throughout the night, once to an owl hooting, another to a bird chirping in the distance. Patrick’s face is buried in my hair, a long leg wrapped around my calf, and a palm resting on my thigh.
I pry my eyes open after the bird’s second song. I see hints of light sneaking through the top of the tent zipper. Sunbeams chase each other across the ground. Tires crunch over gravel in the parking lot as other campers hit the road before breakfast to make it to their next destination on time.
It must be morning.
I shift from my back to my side, and a rush of heat follows me. It encompasses me from my neck to my feet, pleasantly warm. The kind I snuggle into, exhaling a content sigh. The warmth intensifies and grows as a hand rests on my belly. Long fingers stretch out over my skin, trying to touch every space on my body they can find. A thumb traces over my ribs, counting each one to make sure they’re all there.
Nice.
That feels nice.
“Morning, Lo,” Patrick says.
His voice is raspy and low. I’m used to hearing his greetings over a cup of coffee in my kitchen or after a post-run shower when he’s wide awake and using a towel to dry off his hair. He sounds wicked so early in the day, a side not everyone gets to know.
TherealPatrick Walker. A little rumpled, a little disheveled and unbelievably sexy.
How thehelldid I never notice it before?
“Morning,” I say. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like I was dead to the world. Did you warm up?”
“I did. Thanks for being my personal heated blanket.”
“Anytime.”
I scoot back half an inch, and a hardness presses right into the curve of my ass. He inhales as I let out a small, startled gasp. The sounds mix, and there’s a moment where we both freeze, wondering who will move first.
Half a second later, Patrick rolls his hips forward.
I’ve never heard such silence before.
The rational side of my brain says I can’t grind into my best friend’s lap and expect us to eat breakfast across from each other without any awkwardness. To carry on with our road trip like we haven’t found ourselves in an intimate position: me, halfway on his dick, and him, dangerously close to groping me.
Then there’s the other side of my brain. The ninety-nine percent certainty of not crossing any physical lines with him steadily plummets closer and closer to zero, leaving me unsure.
Time stands still, waiting for me to decide how we proceed. How does this end? How do Iwantthis to end?
Naked under my best friend, it seems.
That’s the side that eggs me on.
Do it,it says.
So I do.
