Page 16 of Holiday Interference
He closes his eyes like he’s putting the conversation to bed with himself. But I’m not done.
“It’s just sleep,” I say, quieter now.
His lids flicker. Open again. This time, his gaze meets mine and doesn’t let go.
I see the war behind his eyes. The flick of want. The press of restraint. The need to be decent colliding with the craving to be near.
And still—he doesn’t move.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low and unguarded. “Because I don’t want?—”
“I’m sure,” I say, cutting him off. Not harsh, just honest. “I’m not asking for anything else.”
He studies me like he’s trying to find the edges of what I mean. Maybe trying to protect both of us from what we don’t.
And then—finally—he nods.
“Just sleep,” he echoes.
I don’t wait for more.
I stand and walk back down the hall barefoot. When I get to the bed, I take off the pants and slide beneath the covers, leaving enough space between the pillows to spell safety.
A long beat passes.
Then the soft shuffle of his steps.
The mattress dips behind me, careful and slow, like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to exhale.
He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t touch my hand. Doesn’t even brush the blankets against my side.
And somehow…that makes me feel more than if he had.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cal
She’s not asleep.
I can tell by the way her breath keeps hitching—light and uneven, like she’s trying to force it steady.
I keep my eyes on the ceiling, even though I can feel every inch of her beside me. She’s not touching me. Hasn’t since we laid down.
But it doesn’t matter. The awareness hums in my skin anyway.
My arm’s outside the blanket. I should move it. Tuck in. Turn over. Do something.
Instead, I stay still and pretend that helps.
The sheets are warm from both our bodies. The mattress dips slightly toward her side where she curled into the edge, but I swear I can feel her heat bleeding across the space between us.
Not close. Not touching. But near enough that it makes my chest feel tight.
I shift my hand, just slightly, and the back of my knuckles graze the blanket by her hip.
Not her skin. Just the fabric. But it’s enough to make my pulse skip.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
