Page 44 of Tangled Hearts

He catches sight of me and smiles. I’m pretty sure I was supposed to hate his smile, but I don’t. Not even a little. “Hey, doll.”

My heart skips a beat. I love when he calls me that. I probably shouldn’t. It almost definitely doesn’t mean anything. “Hey,” I croak.

I’m gearing myself up to ask if cuddling is on the table again for tonight when he gestures me over. “I was thinking we could switch up our position a little.”

My stomach does a flip. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking you could lie here.” He pats his stomach. “Might be more comfortable. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

My feet carry me to him before I can even think, and he chuckles when I climb onto the couch between his legs. I feel a bit like a baby deer, all knees and elbows and no fucking coordination. But when I get there, I don’t really know what I should be doing.

He stares up at me, and I stare down at him. Do I just… lie down? How do I do this?

He laughs, which has my cheeks heating, but before I can yell at him for picking on me, he hooks an arm around my waist and drags me down.

I collapse against him with a soft grunt. We’re basically chest to chest, and he moves me a little, adjusting me until my head is resting over his heart. The proximity, his scent, and the feel of his warm, solid body under mine has my cock hardening, and I’m so incredibly thankful that my hips aren’t touching him and are safely on the couch instead of near him.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

I nod because I don’t trust my voice.

He toys with the back of my shirt, his fingers playing with the hem. “May I?”

I nod again.

His hand’s under my shirt in a heartbeat, and if I wasn’t lying directly over his chest, I’d probably miss the way he lets out a quick breath at the first touch. I’d definitely miss the racing of his heart. Whyishis heart racing? What does that mean?

Like the last two nights, his hand explores me. He never goes beyond my back, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Good, I think. Probably anyway.

“Do you want to watch some Grey’s?” Nic asks, breaking the silence.

“Sure.” Does my voice sound strange to him too, or is that just me?

Nic turns on the TV, starting it from where we left off last night. Or at least, where I assume we left off. It seems I have a bad habit of falling asleep on him. “Can I ask you something?”

Nic hums, and I can feel the vibration of it against my head. “Yes.”

“Are you carrying me to bed at night?”

He pauses. His breath stops, and his hand stops. The only thing that continues is the rapid beating of his heart. “I have, yes. I tried to wake you the first night.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t really know what else to say.

His hand goes back to stroking. “No need to be sorry. I don’t mind.”

We sit in silence for a minute, and I can’t help but melt into him. It’s just that his touch feels so good, and God, I really fucking like this. More than I should.

“It’s kind of nice,” I say softly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “You hear about it, right? Like you fall asleep on the couch and your parents carry you to bed. I never had that.” When I play that back and realize how it sounds, my stomach sours. “Not that I think you’re like my parent carrying me to bed. That would be weird.”

His light chuckle echoes through the room. “I didn’t think you meant it that way.”

“Good.” God, imagine if he thought I looked at him like a parental figure. Gross.

His fingers are exploring the scar on my shoulder blade. I can almostfeelhis curiosity, but he hasn’t asked about it. “That scar came from my bio dad. He threw a glass at me. It broke, and the glass got stuck in my skin.”