“I’m so sorry,” I said gently. “For you. And for them.”
She opened her mouth but then closed it, rethinking whatever she was going to say. “Thank you. It’s been….” She drew her knees more tightly to her chest. “It’s been complete shit, if I’m honest.”
She laid her cheek on top of her knees, facing me, and I tilted my head to the side, drinking in her gaze.
“Thank you,” she whispered, as if afraid of being overhead. “I think I needed to say that.”
“Anytime,” I whispered back.
A piece of her hair fell into her face, and our fingers brushed as we both moved to tuck it behind her ear.
I froze.
She froze.
I had not given my hand permission to do that.
But the choice to not pull away was all mine.
So, together, we moved, brushing the soft strand back.
“I need to wash my hair,” she said quietly. “It probably feels gross.”
“No,” I said honestly. “It doesn’t.”
I traced a featherlight path across her cheekbone with my thumb. Her lips parted, drawing my gaze to them, but then something akin to fear flashed across her indigo gaze. I dropped my hand and pulled away, my face heating, and not a moment too soon.
Delly’s bedroom door opened, and she walked into the living room wearing a pajama set with her university logo on them.
“Do you guys wanna play a game or something?” she asked, seeming oblivious to the thick atmosphere.
To whatever this was or wasn’t. Or could’ve been.
I leaned back over to the side table and grabbed the deck of cards I’d stashed there, then tossed them to her. She caught them with a smile, but then Ireland excused herself for bed.
We mumbled “Goodnights” to her, and I did my best to focus on Delly setting up a game instead of watching Ireland go.
After several rounds ofCrazyEights, Rummy,and one round ofGo Fish, Delly yawned and went off to bed. I got up to check the locks, relatively sure Ireland was in for the night. I turned out most of the lights, leaving just one lampon in the living room in case anyone had to get up during the night.
Then I stood at my bedroom door, hand on the knob, gaze flicking to her closed door.
I had almost crossed a line tonight.
That was not great.
Shaking myself, I opened my bedroom door and stepped inside.
Maybe friendship with Ireland Sewell would be easier if we communicated exclusively via notes.
Notes didn’t smell like lavender.
Notes didn’t have sad, indigo blue eyes.
Notes wouldn’t make me want to kiss her.
Probably.
I’d showered and brushed my teeth earlier, so I just stripped down to my boxers, crawled into bed, and set my glasses on the nightstand.
