Page 41 of Perfectly Complicated
She bites her lip, then disappears into the bathroom to change.
When she comes back out, I do a double take. My sweatshirt hangs to her mid-thighs like a dress, the sleeves covering her hands completely, the Crushers logo emblazoned across her chest.
Her legs are bare, and her hair is starting to curl as it dries. She looks incredible, and seeing her in my clothes scrambles my brain.
“So…no joggers, then?” I ask, intentionally turning to gaze at the fire instead of her.
Not that I mind. That’s the entire problem.
“They’re too big. Couldn’t keep them up.” She hands themback to me as she settles down on the blankets beside me, tucking her legs under the extra blanket. “I figure this works as a dress.”
We sit in silence watching the flames, but there’s an undercurrent humming between us. Maybe it’s how small this cabin is or how she’s wearing my sweatshirt while pretending that nobody really cares that it’s mine.
“So,” she says finally. “This is awkward.”
I chuckle. “Awkward is one way of putting it.”
Her gaze lands on my pile of blankets on the floor. “That’s going to destroy your back.”
I shrug. “I’ll survive.”
“Well, it’s not right. Especially after dragging you to the Christmas festival.”
“It’s fine, Janie,” I say. “Not like there’s an alternative.”
She glances at the bed, then at me, clearly torn. “I mean, it’s a big bed. We could share it. Like adults.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s not a good option.”
“I mean, we both need sleep.” She’s focused intently on the fire now. “And it’s not like anything would happen. We’re just two people…sharing a bed…because of circumstances beyond our control.”
“Janie…” I hesitate, every instinct warning me that sharing a bed is asking for trouble. She’s a single mom who’s not looking for a rebound. It definitely won’t help the attraction that’s becoming impossible for me to ignore.
“We’re adults,” she says, but there’s a flush in her cheeks now. “We can handle sleeping in the same space without it meaning anything.”
Without it meaning anything.Biggest lie ever.
The problem is everything about tonight has meant something—the look in her eyes when she skated with me, the way she leaned into me when she kissed me.
“Okay,” she says, turning away from me, “if it makes you uncomfortable, forget I mentioned it. I was justtrying to help.”
There’s hurt in her voice now, like my hesitation is a rejection of her as a person rather than me trying to be responsible.
“I’m not uncomfortable.” I search for the right words that won’t make this harder to explain and come up empty.
“Then what’s your deal?”
I study her sitting there in my sweatshirt like a beautiful dream, and I know I can’t tell her the truth—that sharing a bed with her might be crossing a line I’m not sure I can uncross.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “You’re right. We’re both adults. It’s fine.”
The relief on her face is immediate. “That’s settled, then.”
But it’s not.
And we both know it.
THIRTEEN
