Except… I’m really fucking drunk. I stumble and crash right back down to the sidewalk again.
“Fuck,” I yell at the top of my lungs as I roll to my back and stare at the sky and stars above me. It might be my imagination, but I think the moon is mocking me.
And then Jane’s face is pushing into my field of view above me. She looks down at me with guarded concern.
She came back for me.
“Are you alright?” she asks hesitantly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure her as I roll to my side.
“Well, okay… good,” she says as she turns away and starts walking back to her car.
“Wait,” I call out, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as pathetic as I feel. She stops, and I manage to get up on one knee. “Jane… I could actually use a little help.”
Slowly, she turns to face me, her face closed off and filled with distaste.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her… well, slur. What can I say? I’m drunk. “But I’d gladly take that ride to my house now if you still wouldn’t mind.”
She takes a few steps back toward me. “I’m sure Barb would give you a lift.”
“I don’t want Barb to give me a lift,” I grit out as I stand up. I sway to the left, then to the right, and finally seem to steady myself for a bit. “I want you to take me home.”
Jane just stares at me. I can see the war going on within those eyes that I dream about practically every night. Finally, she gives a resigned sigh and jerks her head toward the car. “Can you manage to get in by yourself?”
If the way I managed to get where I’m at is any indication, probably not, but I tell her, “Yeah. Sure.”
She nods and turns away, walking to her car without a backward glance. I manage to somehow make it there and, after two attempts, I get the passenger door open. I sort of fall into the seat, pull my legs in with great effort, and shut the door.
Laying my head back against the headrest, I give a long-suffering sigh, close my eyes, and pass the fuck out.
CHAPTER 19
Jane
I feel oppressively hot and uncomfortable, almost to the point I can’t breathe. My eyes pop open, and I immediately remember I’m in Kyle’s bed. The clock on his bedside table reflects it’s just past eight in the morning.
Well, not exactly in the bed—more like lying on top of his bed. I’m hot and can barely breathe because he’s wrapped around me tightly. His chest is to my back with one arm under my head so it’s resting at an odd angle. The other is wrapped around my waist with his hand coming to rest in the center of my chest.
Even though I’m not in the most comfortable of positions—I’m sweating like a pig because of the body heat Kyle is radiating and my neck has a kink in it—I lie perfectly still and savor this experience.
Kyle is cuddling with me.
Even though I’d seen a softer side of Kyle break through on our day outing to Bar Harbor, and he said some sweet things last night when I got him to bed—although that technically was the alcohol talking—I never once would have thought Kyle was the snuggling type. Even after we’d had sex the other night, I never expected him to get back into bed and cuddle with me.
I knew he wasn’t that type of man.
Or perhaps I’m wrong about that.
Regardless, I’m content to lay here for just a few moments and feel what it’s like to be wrapped up securely in his arms.
Eventually, though, my need to pee outweighs my desire to cuddle with Kyle, so I attempt to break free of his hold. This takes some doing and isn’t easy, as he’s still clearly passed out and not helping matters. Somehow, I manage to get his arm around me to loosen and I’m able to slither out. I roll off the bed and look down at him sleeping. His face is so peaceful looking, so anti-Kyle, that I have to just watch him for a bit, which I’m sure isn’t as creepy as it sounds.
But then my bladder calls out to me, so I walk quietly down the hallway to his little bathroom where I do my business. I have no intention of going back into Kyle’s room because I had not intended to sleep in the bed with him last night. However, once I got him in the house and managed to get him into his bedroom, he had fallen backward on his mattress and passed out cold. He had mumbled something in the car when I woke him up about “hoping he didn’t get sick,” and that worried me enough that I felt compelled to stay and make sure he was okay. I couldn’t handle the thought of him drowning in his own vomit or something, so I reasoned to myself that I was being a good neighbor by lying on the bed next to him in case he needed help.