I’m quiet for a moment, and then I let out a groggy-sounding “hmm?” that’s even convincing to myself.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I heard you in the kitchen.”
If he turns on the lights, I’m sure he’ll see the glass I left on the counter and then he’ll realize I’m fake-sleeping.
“It was probably a burglar,” I mumble.
I sit up and turn on the lamp. Oliver is wearing a white T-shirt and dark blue boxer shorts. My eyes lock onto his legs. I pull my gaze away, but it lands on his boxers. This isn’t any better. It’s just like the other morning when I picked him up on the way to Tina’s. I wonder if this is what he sleeps in or if he threw on the shirt to be modest. I picture him in his bed, wearing only his boxer shorts, his strong arms wrapped around a pillow. And then I picture myself there instead of the pillow. My face flushes. I don’t know why my thoughts are wandering in this direction.
I rip my eyes away from his underwear and look down at my feet instead. “Why’d you let me fall asleep?”
He shrugs. “You were tired and you looked cozy. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Now I’m tired and embarrassed.” I yawn. “I should go.” I stand up and start to head for my shoes.
“You don’t have to go,” he says. I stop and look up at him. He clears his throat. “I mean, it’s the middle of the night. It’s dark out and you’re tired. You should get a few more hours of sleep and leave in the morning.”
I know that he’s right. I probably shouldn’t drive when I’m this tired. I look back down at the couch. It looks inviting.
“You can take my bed,” he says. “I’ll sleep out here.”
“What? No. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Really, I don’t mind. Take the bed.” He gestures to the hallway where he came from.
“Nonsense. I’ll take the couch.”
I step toward the couch, but before I can lie down, Oliver leans over and grabs the blanket and pillow I was using. I stop and frown at him.
“You won’t be very comfortable without these,” he says.
“Seriously?”
He nods. I grab the blanket to pull it away from him, but he doesn’t let go. I tug on it, but he’s stronger than me, and I only succeed at tugging myself closer to him. He pulls the blanket back with a little more force than I anticipate. I stumble forward and bump against his chest. I stop pulling for a moment and so does he. I can’t bring myself to look up at his face, so my eyes settle on his chest. I can see the subtle thump of his heart through his shirt. Time seems to stop for a moment. If it weren’t for his visible heartbeat and my racing thoughts, I might think that we’ve found a glitch in the universe and time has frozen altogether. I watch the steady beat for a moment, and then I tighten my grip on the blanket and pull as hard as I can. He isn’t expecting it this time, and I get the blanket away from him.
I laugh at him and do a little victory twirl, swinging the blanket over my head. He watches me, an amused smile on his face.
When I stop, he takes a slow step toward me. There’s something about the way he moves that keeps me from fighting him when he takes the blanket away from me this time. My own heartrate kicks up a notch. I wonder if he can see it.
“Priscilla,” he says. His tone of voice has changed, too. I’m not sure what it is, but it makes me feel inclined to do whatever it is that he asks of me. “Go to my room.”
I nod. I try to say, “Okay,” but I can’t seem to find my voice and it comes out in a whisper.
I leave him behind in the living room and head to his bedroom. When I get there, I wait a minute before I close the door behind myself. His bed is unmade, which makes sense because he was just sleeping in it. I turn off the light and climb under his covers. The pillows smell like him.
I close my eyes and breathe in his scent. I must be half asleep and delirious. He must have toxic fumes spewing through the vents in his house, messing with my brain and giving me thoughts I would never have if I were in my right mind. It’s the only logical explanation, because the last thought I have before I fall asleep is that I wish he had followed me in here.
ChapterEleven
Of All the Things
Iwake up to the sound of someone knocking on a door. It takes a moment for me to realize the sound is coming from the other side of the house and not Oliver’s bedroom door. I sit up and stretch, then listen as Oliver answers the front door. I recognize Ryan’s voice but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I slip out of bed and step closer to the bedroom door so that I can listen.
Their voices are muffled, so I can’t make out everything they’re saying. I press my ear against the door. I can hear enough to figure out that Oliver is explaining his idea for the marching band. Ryan doesn’t sound totally put off by the idea. I hope that’s a good sign.
“Let’s talk more about it later,” Oliver says. “I have to get ready for work.”
Ryan says something that’s too muffled for me to understand. Oliver responds with “Wait.” I frown.