Page 30 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

I wake up bleary-eyed and anxious—and despite my instant realization that I was only dreaming about Kyle following me through Lucent and the mall and Target, my pulse spikes higher when I also realize I don’t know where I….

No, wait. I do know where I am.

My heart rate starts calming just as quickly as it freaked out. I close my eyes and rub at the exceptionally warm side of my face, which I’ve had lying on my arm. Mere feet away from me, Luke’s light snores remind me of us being tired throughout our evening with our friends.

But my pulse jumps again because our friends—oh no. They expected us to find that game and bring it to them, and we’ve clearly not done that.

I sit up straight, groaning about how stiff my muscles are and how sleepy I still am. These things worsen as I lean over and smack around for where I think I left my purse on the floor. Yep, there it is; I feel around for several clumsy seconds before I find my phone.

Gosh, it’s late. Nearing three o’clock in the morning.

I see I have hours-old text messages from my group chat with the girls, so I open them.

EMMA: Okay, Ms. Moss, Joy and I are home safe. You must still be asleep at Bramhill’s. Hope you’re cozy. We love you and will talk to you soon

JOY: Love you! Snooze to your heart’s content!

EMMA: Also, Brad still isn’t half bad. He got along with Joy much better than Asston

JOY: LOL ASSTON

I manage one sleepy little chortle about that, as well as a sense of satisfaction about Bradley remaining nice. I did notice he seemed to click with my friend. For one thing, he wasn’t shy about saying he thinks vibrant hair colors on women are sexy.

Yawning, I put my phone back down. As I start to snuggle up under this blanket again—Luke must’ve gotten it for me—I notice what looks like a pair of sweatpants on the arm of the chair. Belatedly, I remember I’m still in my dinner clothes.

Did he set those out for me too?

I find the energy to reach out and unfold them.

Lord, they are the sweatpants he bought for himself.

I could just kiss him.

I’m so tired I barely feel surprised by that thought, though it does bring a little spark to my lips.

For a dragging stretch of time, I go back and forth between considering putting the pants on and just going back to sleep in this chair, with which I am in love.

Then I also notice I have to pee, so…if I’m going to the bathroom anyway….

I take the pants with me. After I’ve drowsily taken care of business, I strip off my tights and skirt and pull the pants on. Right away, I want to live in them forever even though they don’t hug my hips very well—if they were one size bigger, they’d be too loose to wear. For unplanned pajama purposes, though? I’m about to be stupidly comfy in them.

My reflection certainly looks stupidly comfy in them. Like a charming girlfriend.

It’s a really nice thought.

It follows me back to the living room, where I see Luke hasn’t stirred one bit. He’s still stretched out on the couch, all sweet yet masculine in his lowered-guard state.

Wish there was room for me to lie next to him.

My fuzzy brain tries to imagine it; paired with memories of being bundled up in his coat with him, the idea sounds better than good. Sounds amazing.

Sounds irresistible.

‘Get close to me anytime.’ Isn’t that what he said?

I know it is, so I don’t think he’ll mind if he wakes up later and finds me snuggled with him. I can’t find it in me to mind how much I want it. So I pile my stuff on my purse on the floor and, instead of returning to the big chair, go to where he is. I move his blanket so I can get under it, too, and occupy the bit of empty space there.

He does move around in his sleep now. I take advantage of it, wiggling and shifting, wordlessly coaxing him to scoot against the cushions so I won’t fall off the edge. Momentarily, the back of me is spooned along the front of him; we seem to be pretty comfortable for one of us not being awake and this couch being just big enough for both of us.

And I hadn’t thought about this making me feel safe after my bad dream, but I realize it’s doing exactly that. Lingering bits of unease go away from me. In my dream, I felt sharply that Kyle was trying to get me alone somewhere, but here and now, all I feel is Luke.

The only way this could be better is if he would drape his arm around me. But I’m so ready to go back to sleep, I can’t even consider trying to make that happen.

So I let my eyes close, let my body relax into his warmth, and let the calm darkness slip over me again.

—

The next time I come to, the sun is starting to rise and I’m not merely warm—I’m caged in by the most welcome heat.

Luke and I are still lying the way we were when I finagled my way onto the couch, but now he does have his arm curled around me. He’s penning me to himself in his sleep, curved snugly against me. His heart beats a steady rhythm against my back. His breaths stir my hair lightly, lightly.

And…I don’t want to ever move.

Think this is the best way I’ve ever woken up.

I never felt this relaxed or secure next to Marcus. Not even after sex, when one’s body is supposed to be satisfied and happy.

Acknowledging that causes a whole new kind of heat to wrap around me—not because of the memory of my ex’s body with mine, but because of the fleeting thought of Luke’s with mine, which collides with the current reality of him. And that collides with recent memories of us, like when we were in the fitting room area and when we’ve held hands and when he kissed my jaw last night.

My pulse is tripping all over itself.

I can’t help dozily wondering, not fleetingly at all: how would he feel if we were together?

What must it be like to be surrounded by his body without…without clothes and sleepiness and fake dating in the way?

What would it feel like to have him and be had by him when even hugs and snuggles feel perfect to me? When eyebrow touches and controlled moments of contact light up my nerve endings like stars blazing into existence?

I think it would be blazing too.

Beautiful—it would have to be beautiful because somehow, I’ve come to realize that’s what he is.

And what he thinks I am.

I tune in to how tense my muscles have become, how lonely my mouth feels, how unsteady my breaths are, how hot my face is.

God, these thoughts. They have the beginnings of an ache stirring in me. I can imagine how we’re lying right now being shifted into me underneath him, confined in the best and warmest way while we….

Don’t wake up yet, I silently beg him as I move just enough to press my thighs together. Don’t wake up and see me like this. I didn’t wanna feel like this about you or love spending time with you or wish I could hold on to the sincere parts of you, and it has all happened anyway, and I don’t know what to do about it.

Luckily, he goes on sleeping.

I try to relax. Try to unknot all these knotted-up things in me. Try to get flickers of old kisses and desires for new ones to go still.

How insane am I, honestly?

I mean, what do I really expect to see unfold with him? How could I even daydream about this fake relationship turning into a real one? Why the hell would that happen? Have I forgotten who we are to each other at the end of the day? He’s simply doing me a favor by pretending, not trying to send out different messages that he likes me for real.

But maybe he’s starting to because pretending has lowered the guard he’s had up.

The voice in my head is quietly rational, but it shakes me deeply.

And maybe I’m realizing I like him, too, because my guard has lowered right along with his.

I lie here with this for a minute.

For a few minutes.

For many.

I can’t seem to brush it away. It makes too much sense.

Could it be?

Could it be that having to put our animosity on hold has done us a favor we weren’t anticipating? Are we growing closer because we made room for it? Because we’ve allowed it even though we thought we were just calling a temporary truce?

As these questions and possibilities ripple through me and fill me with butterflies, I look at both sides: the animosity and the closeness.

Over and over again, I look at them.

And the more time I spend on them, the more I think I know which one I want to let go of and which one I want to keep.