“Yes,” I whisper sleepily, and my eyes flutter closed. “But I might throw a few punches myself, so our flags can match.”
I smile against the laugh that lights up his chest. “Which parts do you pretend were different about your life?”
He answers right away. “All of it.”
My eyes fly open when the first beam of daylight shines through the windows on either side of my front door. It’s still dim, and I have no idea what time it might be.
What I do know is that I cannot move. If I do, Tripp will wake up. And he’s currently hugging my palm to his chest. I’m trapped between him and the couch. Luckily, he’s facing away from me. Not so lucky, my right leg is draped over his like we’re two ends of an intertwined pretzel.
The last thing I remember is trading secrets while trying not to drift off. It seems I never made it to my bed, and he never went home. This is . . . fine.
We’re comfortable around each other and have had innocent physical contact in the form of a hug or light-hearted snuggle. Our current situation could easily be brushed off.
Oopsie. Fell asleep and ended up spooning you. My bad.
Until he sighs and turns toward me, that is. His eyes are closed and mine are as wide as they’ll possibly go.
My arms have ended up looped around his neck. The metal of his thin chain feels cold against my skin. Tripp’s face is buried in the crook of my neck while he smooths his left hand over my thigh. When his movements stop, I study his even breaths for at least a minute. I still haven’t come up with an escape plan.
Do I want an escape plan?
Breathe in, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four.
He’s definitely asleep. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and no one breathes that slowly when they’re conscious.
I eliminated the space between us first last night, but in my defense, I just wanted him to feel safe. Close. I’ve always been a believer in the concept of love languages, even between friends, and physical touch is most definitely the key to making him feel understood.
Daylight fills the living room, increasing in brightness by the minute. I’m still working out my options when I notice Tripp’s body feels more like a frozen statue rather than a living, breathing human being.
He pulls away slowly, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling his hand up to rub the side of his head. He yawns, stretches his back, and then grunts while moving to a sitting position. I stare at his bare back in front of me and slowly reach for the blanket that somehow got pushed down overnight.
I’ve gathered it in my hands and pulled it over my mouth by the time Tripp stands, stretches again, and turns to face me with a lazy, lopsided smile.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” I whisper.
He walks to the kitchen while slowly running a palm up and down his abs. “Coffee?”
“Su—sure. Thank you.” I rise to my knees and turn to lean over the back of the couch, facing the kitchen to watch him.
I’ve barely moved by the time he starts the coffee maker, takes a three-minute shower, and returns to present me with a steaming mug. I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic and pull it to my mouth for a sip.
My eyes continue to follow Tripp over the top of my coffee cup while he gathers his phone, keys, and the shirt he threw over the back of a chair yesterday afternoon. Accidental cuddling should be awkward, so I can’t figure out why he’s whistling and milling about like any other morning.
He tosses his keys in the air just to catch them again before walking toward the front door. “Better go, so I don’t get fired.”
“Yeah, right. You could burn the whole place to the ground and Gage still wouldn’t fire you,” I say with a scoff.
He smiles and pulls the door open. “I know. Catch ya later, Mace?”
“Wait—your coffee?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” he calls over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.
13
TRIPP
