Page 11 of Holiday Interference
Something I sure as hell can’t afford.
“You hungry?” I ask, just to break the current.
She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Not really.”
“Thirsty?”
She lifts her glass again. “Covered.”
I nod once, then lean back against the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Because this is fine. This is nothing.
She’s just here to wait out the storm.
But still…
The scent of her in my clothes clings to the air like smoke.
And no matter how many reasons I stack in my head, none of them make me stop looking.
Not the fact that I can’t imagine what a sophisticated, beautiful, smart woman like her could want with a young guy like me. I don’t even have the professional athlete thing going for me since she’s around them all the time.
Even thinking about how I don’t get too close to anyone is enough to stop me from looking at her.
But looking is all I’ll ever do.
She’s still holding her water glass when I finally say it.
“You can take the bed.”
Her head tilts. “What?”
I nod toward the hallway. “You should sleep. It’s yours.”
The moment hangs, thick. Too quiet again.
Her gaze sharpens, like she’s searching for the catch. I keep my voice even, but it still lands heavier than I mean it to.
“I’ll take the couch.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer.
Just stands there in my shirt and borrowed sweats, lips parted like she’s about to say something but hasn’t decided what yet.
And damn if that doesn’t do something to me.
I grip the back of the couch to keep my hand from doing something stupid. Like reaching. Like brushing the hair off her face or tugging the collar back over her shoulder.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says eventually.
“I know.”
She waits. I wait.
Her pause is short. But it still makes something catch in my chest.
Because it shouldn’t matter where she sleeps. This isn’t a thing. It’s logistics. One bed, one couch, one snowstorm that won’t quit.
