Page 70 of Hold the Pickle
I grip the comforter. “Would they evict us?”
“I’m not sure. They’d probably give us a few days to re-home them.”
But where would I do that? The rescues are full. Camryn couldn’t handle the whole litter with her allergies. I don’t know very many people in LA.
My breath hitches.
Dalton’s arm crosses the bed to brush against my shoulder. “Hey. We’ll figure it out. So far, so good.”
His touch sets off another jolt, like the one we talked about a week ago.
I shouldn’t bring it up. Not here. At night. Both of us are in bed.
But I do. “I felt that,” I say.
“Me, too.” His voice has that low, sexy quality again.
His hand stays on my shoulder, heavy and warm. I never want him to move it. A shower of sparks courses through meevery time I breathe, shifting my body just enough that the contact changes. Each tiny alteration in pressure, every bare increment of skin newly touched, is like a flame making its way across me.
I’ve never been so sensitive to something. Dopamine and oxytocin. They’re working overtime.
“Will it fade?” I ask. “It seems like it’s growing more intense.”
“Do you want it to go away?”
His question is simple, and so is my answer.
“No.”
His eyes catch the faint light of the kitchen bulb. His face is shadowy but so familiar. I can picture the cut of his jaw, the breadth of his brow, the angle of his nose.
“Nadia?”
My name is like a question in the dark.
“Yes?”
He says nothing in response, as if his next words are too big, too much. I wonder how he’d phrase it. Would he ask me to move closer? To kiss me? If this is a good idea?
If he should leave the bed?
Suddenly I can’t bear that possibility. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to go either.
So I take a leap.
And I move closer.
22
DALTON
When Nadia scoots closer to me, I decide not to risk any questions. I think she already answered it, anyway.
I should stay here.
With her.
My hand glides under her neck. She’s close, even though it’s hard to make her out in the dark.
