And why should I resist it? We were both free. Our families may have placed expectations on whatever they thought was happening between us, but in the end, what they wanted had nothing to do with what actually occurred between Molly and me. We were adults; we could make our own choices.
Her sigh of relief told me I’d made the right call in telling her to stay. “Good. Let’s go inside now. I’m done pretending all that dark out there isn’t freaking me out. You need more exterior illumination, Garrett. Put some lights in those trees out there.”
“I used to have motion-detecting lights right off the deck, but there’s too much going on outside. The lights went crazy all night long.”
“Oh my god! I’m going inside right now. You clear the table. I’m done with nature and I think I hear Stan.” I couldn’t help but laugh as she slammed the door behind herself.
“No laughing!” She poked her head out of the door. “I didn’t hear it, but I know you’re doing it! Don’t forget, we sort of bet on this anyway. I’m getting the steak and the lobster, buttface.”
I gathered everything I could fit on the tray and started to head inside behind her. Despite my mental insistence that this would be a platonic, friendly sleepover, my stomach was turning somersaults as anticipation flooded my veins with so much adrenaline I doubted I’d be able to sleep any time in the next week.
Her head popped back out. “I’m sorry I keep calling you a buttface. You make me feel a little crazy sometimes, Garrett. Let me help you.” She grabbed the kettle and carefully took the teacup from my other hand.
“Hey, as long as you’re not calling me Gawwett again, I’m fine with it.”
“Ha ha ha. It took me awhile to fully embrace the letter R, didn’t it?” Her sideways smirk was both familiar and new. My feelings for her were also familiar and new and I didn’t know how to wrap my brain around it. Being with her was as comfortable as when we were kids, but there was a physical aspect to it now that had never existed before. I wondered how I should handle it tonight. There were no rules to this game, and there was so much more than just the two of us involved—our families, our history, all of it would be put on the line. Crossing that line was absolutely a risky move.
Despite my trepidations, I turned to grab the tray from the table to follow her inside with a smile on my face.
“So . . .” Her voice was whisper soft in the moonlit dark of my bedroom.
“Yeah?” Face scrubbed clean, hair in a ponytail, wearing one of my T-shirts, she faced me on the other side of my bed. She was pretty as could be, lying there looking at me the way I sometimes dreamed about. Her rosy cheeks and big brown eyes were gorgeous in the moonlight and the idea that I could fall asleep right now was insanity.
“Flip over so I can get you to sleep,” she bossed.
“I’m not a kid and I’m twice your size. You should flip over.”
“I’m the one helping you fall asleep. I should be the big spoon. Flip.” She put on a mask of annoyance but the smile she was trying to hide from me destroyed the effect.
“I’ll flip, but only because I want to see you try to be the big spoon. You’re barely the size of a demitasse spoon.”
“You know what a demitasse spoon is?” She laughed at me while shoving at my shoulder to move me to my side.
“You’ve met my mother, Molly. Don’t make fun.” After flipping over, I went stock-still as I felt the press of her full breasts against my back and the warmth of her leg hooking over my hip. Her arm went around my shoulders and the hiss of her breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine.
Friends. We were friends right now, nothing more . . . not yet, anyway.
I could do this.
No, actually I could not.
My dick got hard. I slammed my eyes shut and thought of my mother’s laundry drying on the clothesline in the backyard when I was growing up, granny panties as far as the eye could see . . .
Stan’s hairballs . . .
That dead raccoon he’d dragged onto the deck as a gift before he moved in . . .
Dr. Pimple Popper on YouTube.
Ahh, that did it. There was nothing like the mental image of a big-ass cyst erupting to get rid of a boner.
“Dammit, Garrett. You’re too big. This is like trying to comfort a brick wall. I can’t even fit my arm around you right. This is much easier with Abbie.”
“Well, she’s a tiny little girl and I’m a large, strapping man. And you are just a little shrimp. You flip over.”
“I can’t be the little spoon! I’m the one helping you fall asleep, remember? Plus, you look warm and cozy and if you cuddle me, I’ll go out like a light. I’ve never had problems sleeping.”
“I remember. You could never make it through my parents’ movie nights. They’d put a blanket on you, and it was lights out, like Pavlov’s dog. Fine. Alright, lie on your back and you can be the spoon rest. You know, the one that sits in the middle of the stove?” I felt her nod against my back. “You be that big spoon and I’ll put my head on your chest. And if this is a bet, why am I helping you win?”
“Because, you’ll win too. You’ll get a good night of rest, and then we’ll eat steak and lobster at The Front Porch next weekend to celebrate my victory and the fact that I’m never wrong when it comes to sleep. Duh, Garrett.” She let go of me and turned to her back. After fluffing the pillow behind her head, she patted her chest. “Come on, I’ll rub your hair like I do for Abbie. You’ll be out in no time and then I’ll go out to the couch with Stan.”
“Stan is a bed hog. Have fun with that,” I warned as I scooted closer and allowed my head to rest on her ample chest—was I a pig for noticing how soft she was? Probably, but I’m only human and this situation was unprecedented as well as completely crazy. I heaved out a sigh and tried to relax but it was impossible.
“He’s so floofy.” She sighed, causing her chest to rise and fall beneath my head. “I’ll be Stan’s big spoon when I’m done with you,” she whispered as her hand went into my hair. My eyes rolled back as her little pink fingernails lightly scratched my scalp in a heavenly massage. “Relax. Let me help you, Garrett. You deserve to get some rest,” she soothed as she used her other hand to caress the back of my neck and the top of my shoulders. It was impossible not to do as she said. My body grew heavy with exhaustion as I succumbed to her magic fingers, her softness, her sweetness and care. Not to mention the fact that she smelled like heaven and I wanted to lie here and inhale her forever.
I awoke hours later to the warmth of her snuggled next to me, curled on her side with her head on my chest, one hand under her cheek and the other on my stomach. My quilt wrapped around us both, cocooning us in warmth like we were in our own little world right here in my bed. Sunlight filtered through the slats of my blinds to cast striped shadows over her sleeping face. Lightly, I traced the bridge of her nose with a fingertip. It turned up at the end with exactly seven freckles decorating the bridge and one tiny crescent-shaped scar left over from the car accident that had taken her hearing. When we were kids, I used to tell her the scar looked like the moon and the freckles were her wishing stars. I also used to run Hot Wheels over the top of her head and down the bridge and pretend the upturned tip was a jump-off to make her laugh.