Page 40 of The New Guy
He stiffens even more. “Nobody?”
“Well, nobody older than seven. You smell nice. Like body wash and sex.”
He makes a choking sound. But his arms close around me and he pats my back.
I sort of melt against him. “Hugs are nice. I almost forgot.”
“Mm-hmm,” he says gruffly.
My eyes are leaking for some reason. I push my face a little more tightly against the collar of his T-shirt, as if I could just retreat into his solid body until sleep takes me.
“Shh,” he says. “You’re going to be okay.”
“That’s…my line,” I sniffle. “You think it’s a lie.”
“Nah. It’s the truth this time,” he says. “It’s going to be fine.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and just breathe.
And somehow it is.
THIRTEEN
Hudson
I wakeup at four in the morning when Gavin gets out of bed.
He’s on the side near the bathroom, which was by design. I maneuvered him over there after he passed out on me.
Literally.
I also left the ice bucket on the rug beside the bed, just in case he had to puke. But—luckily for both of us—he hasn’t needed it. The bathroom door is still open, and I hear the sound of peeing. Flushing. And then teeth-brushing.
Huh. Okay.
He must have sobered up enough to maneuver in the dark, too, because it’s pitch black in that bathroom and he hasn’t turned on the bathroom light.
I hold very still, hoping he’ll assume I’m asleep. As I should be.
A few moments later I feel the bed shift as Gavin rolls back into it. The covers jostle. “What’s with…” he says as he wrestles with one of the extra pillows that I slotted between us.
And then? He grabs my arm, and suddenly shouts “AAAAGH! Jesus fucking Christ!”
I roll over. “Problem?”
He switches on a bedside lamp and then just kneels there, buck naked, a hand pressed to his heart. “You’re still here? You scared the crap out of me.”
“Of course I’m still here. Where else would I be?”
“Well…” He sits back on his haunches, obviously confused. “I remember you walking me back to the room. I do appreciate it. I never drink, and it hit me hard. But you can go, I swear. I’m not gonna choke on my own vomit and die or anything. And I’m done crying.”
“Good to know.” I tuck my hands behind my head and blatantly check out his bare body. I mean—it’sright there. “But I’m still not leaving this room.”
He frowns, crossing his arms in front of a nicely sculpted chest. “Too busy admiring the view?”
“Youarenaked.”
“I caught that. But I have a habit of stripping when I’m drunk. My college nickname wasBuck.” He grins. “Besides, people take off their clothes in their own hotel rooms.”
