Page 8 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

“Shit.” He scrambles to pull the waistband up, laughing, but they just slouch right back down. “I need a belt or a miracle.”

“You need pants your size.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep a pair here, for days like this.”

He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal, while tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth and missing half of it. A few kernels bounce off his chest and land between the couch cushions.

I freeze.

He doesn’t even glance at me, just keeps chewing, eyes on the movie, but the words ring in my ears like a fire alarm. Keep a pair here. As if staying over is something that might happen again. Like he’s thinking about it, or maybe I matter enough to plan for.

Shit, I’d clear out an entire drawer for him. Hell, I’d give him the whole damn dresser if he asked.

But I don’t say that. I just give a little shrug, like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Could save you from another unicorn situation.”

He grins, popping another kernel in his mouth. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I smirk, but my heart breaks a little. He’s just joking, just tossing out crumbs like he always does. And I’ll take them. I’ll laugh and joke and make room for his sweats in the drawer he doesn’t know I’ve already half-emptied.

Because even if he only means it halfway, part of me hopes he’ll mean it more one day.

He grabs a bag of sour candy, tears it open with his teeth, and immediately spills half of it into the couch cushions. We both stare at the mess in silence.

Tex looks up at me, eyes wide. “You saw nothing.”

“You’re wearing unicorn underwear and just sugar-bombed my couch. I’ve seen everything.”

He laughs, really laughs, his head tossed back, blue eyes crinkling. It’s unguarded and real, and it fills the room like sunlight cracking through the blinds.

“I miss this,” he says between giggles. “Just… being stupid with someone who doesn’t expect me to be anything else.”

I nod, my chest tight. “You can always be yourself here. Pants or no pants.”

And just like that, I’m right back in the friendzone. Solidly. Firmly. Cemented in place like a goddamn monument.

I’ll probably die in the fucking friendzone someday, holding a sign that says I made him soup and let him wear my sweatpants, while he cried on my shoulder about some asshole who ghosted him after two dates and a blowjob.

The thought stings more than I want to admit, but I smile anyway, because he’s still here. He’s safe. And he’s laughing, really laughing, and maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe.

He shifts closer, resting his head against my shoulder again, totally unaware of the emotional crater he just left behind.

I lean back into the couch and let him stay there, even if it hurts. Because this, whatever it is, is still the closest I’ve ever felt to home.

Eventually, the movie ends, and we don’t bother starting another. The room settles into that late-night quiet where everything feels softer, closer. Outside, rain taps lightly at the windows in a slow rhythm that soothes more than it distracts.

Tex shifts beside me, pulling the blanket higher over his chest. His hair’s a mess, his legs curled under him, and my old sweats bunched at the ankles. He’s still clutching the popcorn bowl like it might disappear if he lets go.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“Mmm,” he hums, already drifting. “You make a pretty decent pillow.”

I don’t answer. Afraid I’ll wake him or ruin the moment. His head settles against my shoulder again, soft and heavy, and within minutes, his breathing slows.

He’s asleep.

I glance down at him, this strange, beautiful, complicated person curled up in my clothes on my couch like he belongs here. Like this is normal and I’m the kind of man someone could fall asleep next to and feel safe.

His lips twitch like he’s dreaming. I shift just enough to ease his head onto a throw pillow, careful not to wake him, and drape the blanket higher over his chest.

Then I just sit there, watching over him, and let myself feel what I’m not allowed to say.

I’d give you all of this if you asked. The space. The safety. My whole damn heart.

But for now, I let him sleep and try not to hope too hard.

Tex sleeps for about an hour, breathing soft and even, his body finally at ease in a way I don’t see often enough. I don’t move, just sit with him there, playing out fantasies of The Happy Homemaker in my head.

Then, all at once, he startles and bolts upright, looking panicked.

“Shit! What time is it? I can’t miss curfew.”

“Hey,” I say gently, placing a hand on his arm. “Relax. I already called Brewer. You’ve got time.”

His breathing calms. He scrubs a hand down his face, blinking sleep away, eyes still cloudy with disorientation. “You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbles. His face clouds with something, maybe shame. Maybe guilt. “Why are you so good to me?”

I laugh it off with a practiced smile. “You make it easy.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, then sits back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a beat before glancing my way. “I should go.”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you.”

He shakes his head. “As much as I’m dying to take a ride in Coop, I drove here, and coming back for my car tomorrow would be a hassle since I have to work.”

He gets to his feet and stretches, my oversized sweats hanging low on his hips again. I drink in the sliver of smooth, pale skin he’s exposed.

“I’ll text you when I get home.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You better. ”

Tex smiles, soft and a little tired, but real. “I will. This time… I mean it.”

And for once, I believe him.

He pauses at the door like he wants to say something more., but whatever it is, he swallows it back, offers me one last glance over his shoulder, and slips out into the night.

I wait by the window, watching his taillights disappear down the block, heart aching with all the things we still haven’t said.

But I leave my phone on.

And when it lights up with his name a little while later, a simple home safe , I finally let myself exhale.