Page 45 of Until Next Time
Dawsen follows me into the room and makes sure the locks are locked. He walks to the bed, grabbing the duvet folded across the end. I’m watching him from the opposite side of the bed as he begins shaking out the blanket like he’s about to make a damn pillow bed on the floor. It’s in this very moment that I realize I’m living a real life moment of my all time favorite romance novel trope. Only one bed. God help me, again.
“Oh hell no, Dawsen. You are not sleeping on the floor.” I say as I storm over to him, grabbing the duvet from him.
“I’m fine sharing the bed with you.” This comes out a little too eager, I fear.
“Are…are you… sure? I don’t mind the floor.” He asks, almost like he’s nervous.
“I don’t have cooties, Dawsen. I mean, I used to, but not anymore.” I wink and laugh, trying to lighten the tension.
I’m starting to realize the relationship between Dawsen and I is something unfamiliar and altogether a little confusing. One minute it’s all banter, and prodding each other with snarky jokes and making each other laugh, then there’s the minutes where Dawsen is beingthoughtful, and then the next minute there’s tension, like there’s words not being said, almost like we’re both unsure, trying to figure out what the other is thinking. We’ve got some multi-layered communication styles and I don’t know what to make of any of it.
Dawsen laughs, “Hah, alright, as long as you’re comfortable with that.”
“I am.” I say, as I’m taking off Dawsen’s jacket and hanging it over the armchair in the corner. I kick off my boots and then my socks, then pull down the bed sheet and slide underneath. I absolutely hate sleeping in clothes, but my birthday suit is really not an option tonight, all things considered. Even though there’s a part of me that very much would like that version of the night.
Yep, I’ve read one too many romance novels. Curse you, one bed, close proximity tropes!
Dawsen toes off his boots by the door and flicks off the lights. He pads over to the bed and I can feel the mattress shift as he lays down on top of the blankets.
It’s quiet and the only noise is coming from the rain tapping on the roof. The only light is a peek of moonlight seeping in between the blinds on the window.
“Dawsen. Just get under the covers. You’re going to freeze your ass off.”
He just groans and mumbles something under his breath, and I can’t help but laugh.
“What!!!” I ask, exasperated. He’s making the whole bed thing so weird.
He stands up and pulls back the covers and slides in. I think he’s hanging half off the bed with how far away from me he is. I get the whole ‘being a gentleman’ thing but like, I’m also fine with a little less of it in this case.
“Goodnight, Birdie.” He says, back facing me.
I turn on my side to face his back. The tiny sliver of moonlight peering in lands across that dark hair, just long enough to get your fingers tangled up in.
“Goodnight, Dawsen.”
* * *
I can’t sleep. I’ve been staring at the back of Dawsen’s head for an hour. This is so unlike me. I’m usually passed out as soon as my head hits the pillow. But for some reason, I’m wide awake.
Shit. Who am I trying to fool? I’m very much awake because I can’t stop thinking about what Dawsen said to me tonight. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Like, seriously? What is that shit? What’s he trying to do. I’ve known him basically forever and he’s never once, not even remotely showed any semblance of attraction to me, or interest. Okay, I mean, I know that comment doesn’t mean he’s ‘interested’ but it does mean that he’s attracted to me. That’s something right? And he did say I was ‘something’ too. Whatever that means.
“Can I ask you something?” I whisper.
Dawsen shifts onto his back, putting his hands behind his head as he looks up to the ceiling. “Anything.”
“You aren’t asleep?” I whisper again, but this time, I’m propping myself up on my side using my pillow and arm as a wedge.
He chuckles softly. “Nope.”
“So we’ve both just been lying here awake for an hour pretending we’re sleeping?”
“I’ve been trying to sleep but you’re being so loud over there.”
“I am not being loud! I’ve said no words! What are you talking about?” I say defensively, and suddenly wondering if I had dosed off and snored or something. I do that sometimes.
“You’ve said no words, but your thoughts are loud.” He says so matter-of-factually.
“Oh is that so? You can hear my thoughts now?” I say, proddingly.
