Page 106 of Backslide
“You don’t have to just because I am!” I say more quickly than is normal.
“Nah,” he says. “I should get sleep too.”
Noah offers to take the loft bed, though at some point he will definitely smash his head on the ceiling. But that’s just how he is. He is a take-the-loft-bed kind of guy.
As he starts up the stairs, I head toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Good night, Noah,” I say as lightly as I can manage.
He pauses and looks down at me, almost mournfully. Smiles what kind of looks like a pained smile. I’m sure I’m mistaken. “Sleep well, Nell,” he says.
I finish brushing my teeth, then head into my room and climb into bed.
Soon, I hear him pad back down the stairs, make the rounds, turning off lights throughout the bungalow. Through the crack in my door, I watch them go out, one by one, the communal space blackening until only a sliver of light remains, probably from the bathroom.
My whole body is vibrating. It’s like someone flipped a switch and now I am on. Night is day. Rest is an impossibility. Instead of relaxing me, the cider has turned up my volume to maximum horniness. And I can’t think of a single thing besides Noah lying in the bed directly above me in few, if any, clothes, rumpled sheets grazing his warm skin—his strong forearms, thighs, firm stomach, calves. His dark lashes closed against his cheeks.
I don’t know what the hell to do with myself. I even briefly consider stepping outside to cool off, but it’s pouring rain and I’m in the middle of breathtaking nowhere.
But I cannot stay still.
So I stand up and tiptoe to the bathroom, careful not to wake him. Aware of every creak as I cross the floor. But as I reach to slide the door open, Noah steps out—in the middle of pulling off his shirt, exposing the top of those low-slung sweatpants. And I gasp, like he’s a ghost. The hottest apparition. And, to be fair, heishaunting me.
My palm lands on his chest as he drops his T-shirt back down and we nearly slam into each other like we’re characters on a laugh-tracked sitcom. I snatch my hand away like I just got burned.
I try to pull myself together, bring a palm to my heart to stop it from pounding. Because I am not on edge. I am acompletely normal person.
“Sorry!” he says, also flustered. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just brushing my teeth. I thought you were asleep.”
I shake my head. “I can’t sleep.”
“Well,” he says. “It’s only like nine thirty.”
“Is it really? It feels like two a.m.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Long,” I agree. “But weirdly good, right?”
He shoots me a crooked smile that almost ends me. “One of the best.”
He holds my gaze. If he can’t hear my heart thumping, it’s a fucking miracle.
“Well, good night,” I say before I do something dumb—dumber. And turn back toward my bedroom.
“Weren’t you going to the bathroom?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking back at him and his crinkled brow. “But—I’m good.”
Deranged. But good.
“Are you sure you’re okay up there?” I add. Because that’s all I can think about. Him.Up there, up there, up there.
“I’m fine. It’s actually pretty cozy,” he says.
“Ah, I want to see it!”
He arches an eyebrow. “You want to see it…now?”
There’s so much going on with me that I can no longer differentiate between the emotions—longing, anxiety, hope, regret, fear, want, a compulsion for cute design. I’m sure it’s all printed in black and white across my face.
