“Just go easy.”
“Okay,” I agreed, but I didn’t really know what he meant by it. I brought the glass to my lips, confused by the amount of liquid and by his words, and then I tipped the glass and drank it all. Then I spluttered and coughed, my chest, eyes and nose burning.
“I said go easy!” he said, but he was laughing.
I was still coughing, pounding at my chest. “It burns,” I squeaked.
He laughed harder and stood in front of me. His strong hand on my shoulder as he bent at his knees, trying to look at me.
I wiped my eyes and held my stomach, feeling the liquid burning inside there. “Is that stuff like… expired?” I looked up at him, waiting for a response.
With his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, he just shook his head, his shoulders heaving with each laugh trying to escape.
I slapped his shoulder, annoyed at his response to the fire burning inside me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to compose himself. “But I did tell you to go easy. That’s not how you drink whiskey for the first time.”
“How do you drink it then?”
“You appreciate it,” he said, lifting the glass. His eyes stayed on mine as he tipped the drink slowly into his mouth, his tongue darting out afterward, licking the taste off his lips.
I found myself copying his movements; my eyes fixed on his mouth. A shiver ran up my spine, and a stirring occurred in the pit of my stomach. My chest heaved with every breath, and his did the same. We couldn’t stop looking at each other… until his phone rang. And he cursed under his breath, before pulling it out of his pocket and answering it. “Yeah?” he said, his eyes still on mine. “Okay. We can deal with it tomorrow.” And then he hung up.
I jumped off the counter. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s still light out.”
“Oh. I’ll just have a nap,” I told him, needing some space to think, and to breathe. What the hell was happening?
“Sounds good,” he said, walking past me toward the bedrooms. He didn’t stop at his door, though. Instead, he went to my room. He shifted the covers on the bed and sat on the edge as he placed the content of his pockets on the nightstand. I stood in the doorway, watching, not knowing what to do. “You coming?”
“Um…”
“We’re just sleepin’, right?”
I nodded slowly and made my way over to him. He lay down, scooting until his back was against the wall, making room for me. I hesitated, and he noticed because he said, “I’m tired, Bailey. I didn’t sleep at all last night. Either you get in bed, and I sit on the chair awake and watch you sleeping, or you can do us both a favor, and we can both get some rest.”
Without another word, I climbed under the covers, facing away from him. The bed shifted and his arm moved under my pillow, and then his other arm was around my waist, and his hand flattened on my stomach, drawing me closer to him. I felt his breath on my neck as both his arms curled around me, pressing my back against his chest. And then he kissed my shoulder, softly, just once, but it was enough to make me shut my eyes and relive the feeling over and over. “Sleep well, bella.”
17
Bailey
Nate stayed home for another couple days. When he had to step out, it was only for an hour or so at a time. No longer was there a separation between us, not with the walls of the house, and not emotionally. He was never more than a few feet away unless we were sleeping. That one time in my bed was the closest we’d been. But he always seemed to find a way to be nearby—slight touches, quick glances, small smiles—all of it had my heart and mind racing, my fingers twitching to touch him back, to do something, so he knew that I didn’t mind his touch. Not even a little bit.
“Doctor Polizi’s coming soon,” Nate said, looking up from his phone.
“Okay.” I nodded, trying to move the hair away from my face without using my glove covered hands. I was on all fours, cleaning the oven while he stood behind me, watching me I guess. Cleaning was the only thing I could find to do in the house, and even though he said that I didn’t need to—that he’d prefer me not to—I had to. Not just for my sanity, but because it felt as if I was somehow paying him back. He shook his head when I told him that but agreed to let me anyway. We spoke more, about anything we could think of that didn’t consist of my past or his job. It’s not as if we sat down and said those topics were off limits, but I think we both wanted whatever it was we were experiencing to be separate from that. We wanted to just be two people—friends, maybe—who enjoyed each other’s presence. So we ignored the reasons why I was here in the first place, or at least, we did our best to fake it.
I stuck my bottom lip out and blew out a breath, trying to move the hair from my eyes again. He chuckled lightly and bit down on an apple, keeping it in his mouth as he squatted down next to me. He used both hands to clear the hair away from my eyes, then cupped my face in his hands. “Eyyer?” he mumbled, apple still in his mouth.