She huffs a laugh. “You’re the one wrapped around me, dude.”
I glance down and realize, albeit a little too late, that she’s not wrong. One of my arms is curled behind her back, my hand resting above her hip like it belongs there and she’s mine.
“I thought I stayed on my side,” I murmur.
“You did,” she says, eyes narrowing but still not moving, “until, like… the middle of the night? Then you started hoarding the blanket.”
“That absolutely does not sound like me.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
The bells toll again, softer now. There’s a faint sound farther away, like the even cadence of the train running over the tracks.Somewhere downstairs, a door opens and shuts, and loud voices float up and linger between us. Her fingers twitch slightly on my chest.
It would be so easy to kiss her.
It would also be the most terrible idea.
Her leg brushes mine as she shifts again, finally pushing off the covers and flopping onto her back. The duvet slips low, revealing the soft curve of her stomach where her tank top has ridden up.
I look away. I’m not a monster. But…
She stretches with a quiet groan, eyes still half-lidded. “I need coffee. And possibly a new set of legs. My age is betraying me. I don’t think I can manage another of these hikes again.”
“This bed is criminal.”
“Speak for yourself. I slept like a baby.”
“Yeah,” I say under my breath. “You looked like it.”
She throws me a lazy glare, then swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands up, hair wild, still half-asleep. I watch her cross to the bathroom, bare legs carrying her across the room, the waistband of her underwear riding low on her hips. The fabric clings just enough to make me look away before I start thinking more things I shouldn’t. She pauses at the door and looks back, and something about the way she holds my gaze—casual, like we didn’t just spend the night tangled together while half-naked—knocks the air out of my lungs.
“You coming?”
I blink, brain short-circuiting. “To the bathroom?”
She smirks. “To coffee.”
“Right.” Obviously.
She disappears behind the door, and I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face.
Good lord, I’m well and trulyfucked.These are going to be the longest two weeks of my life.
13
MANUELA
WEDNESDAY
By the timewe get back to the house, it’s late morning. The sun is out, the sky is a clean, cloudless blue, and the gravel crunches under our shoes as we walk up the hill from the train station. The return trip was uneventful, really, just like I assumed it was for the larger group the day before. But my thoughts weren’t.
My skin hasn’t stopped buzzing since waking up next to him.
Elle spots us before we even make it up the steps to the front door. She comes barreling down the walkway in a pair of linen shorts and oversized sunglasses, all dramatic flourish and toned legs, blonde hair in a messy braid. She throws her arms wide like she’s rehearsed this moment, whether for real or in her head—drama all around.
“There you are!” she calls, loud enough for birds to scatter from a nearby tree. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? Even with Connor’s little midnight text, we were this close to calling the police.” She crushes me in a hug, then pulls back, scanning me head to toe like she’s checking for injuries. “Do you know the scenarios I was making up in my head?”
I let her hug me, laughing into her shoulder. “We missed the train.”
