To be apart.
So why did it make my chest hurt? I rubbed the stupid spot where my heart was pumping hard like, hey, wait, I have an opinion here.
Nope. Only the brain.
Logic wins.
So I cleared my throat, schooled my features, and said, “Hey, we should probably get to bed. It’s late, and we have to report at noon tomorrow, remember?”
“How could I forget? He was so clear and concise about why…” She groaned. “All right, well, all my things are,” It was like it just occurred to her she’d either have to sleep in spartan clothes or naked. “In…there.”
“Same.” I groaned. “I’m tired, though. I’m actually tired. Can I just— Are you okay with…” I held up my finger. “We have the hall bathroom. What if we wash our clothes in the sink using bar soap that we know we have in there? Might I add we’re testing an emergency strategy?”
“Hmm…” She actually smiled.
Damn it, stop being so pretty! Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh,
“Um…” I regained my control. “We wrap ourselves in dry towels, let our clothes dry, don’t touch each other, use the humidity of the room to somehow help us not mold and wake up, and pray we can get back into the laundry room?”
“Sounds like torture.”
“Well, not to beat a dead horse, but it is the loser room, so…” I shrugged. “Got any better ideas?”
She flinched, even though I didn’t blame her. “N-no, not really. But you should go first.”
I snorted. “Right because you haven’t seen me naked, you little prude ass—”
She kicked me in the shin then marched toward the bathroom, peeling her bra off in the process.
Note. To. Self. Does well with aggression.
I smirked despite my heart telling me to shut it down and started to do the same, turning on the shower and very quickly soaping myself down only to find her stepping in like a challenge. “Turn around.”
“What?” She balked.
I shrugged. “I’ll get your back; you have some mud there. Just turn.”
Her eyes narrowed, and then she did, turn that was, and I washed her back, down her legs, washed her off, and then handed her the soap.
She repeated the same motions for me, and while it was torture having her nipples join in on the rubbing, I kept it together, I mean, I was hard as stone, but I wasn’t going to give in.
Once we were both washed, I shut off the water and turned around, much to her shocked expression, as if I was a sex addict. Then I wrapped her in a towel. I waited until she was covered, then picked up one for myself, completely dried off, and grabbed new ones for her and myself, and did the same.
By the time we had our clothes washed and hanging, it was getting late, so late I was yawning each time I tried to ask if she was okay, and she was yawning back.
We made our way into the small room, aka closet, and without thinking, I lay down trying to make space for her. She lay down next to me, closing the door and only leaving a crack so we could have fresh air.
Our breathing was our music.
Our bodies our heat.
And just when I thought I was going to go to sleep, she turned and pulled me into her arms, officially making me the mother fucking small spoon.
And I would take it to my grave, lie to the government, grandkids, whoever—but I smiled and fell right the hell to sleep. Feeling. Safe.
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia
I fell asleep holding him against me. At first, it was supposed to be a joke, and then the next thing I knew—I was dying of heatstroke.
And it was morning.
“Why,” Mark groaned as he moved away from me, “are we wet?”
It was one of those moments where you’re so grossed out you don’t even want to move but also moving might prove who the culprit of wherever all the wetness came from, making you want to disappear into a puddle of shame.
“I’m…” I started. “I’m actually not sure. I mean…it happens to lots of people, but, like, did you ever have an issue peeing the bed?”
“Yes. And as an adult, I’ve still been unable to control my urges when I’m lying next to a hot girl!” he roared.
“I am hot, like physically scorched.” I sniffed. “And seriously?”
“No, not seriously.” He used his foot to open the door.
I assumed, probably just like he did that fresh air would be like a mountains breeze kiss upon our faces.
Instead, it was just as warm in the apartment.
“Heating and cooling, zero stars,” Mark muttered as he crawled out of the little hole we were sleeping in.
“Do not recommend,” I grumbled. “So the good news, you didn’t pee the bed.”
“Good news neither did you.” He held up his hand for a high five.
I groaned and hit it, my hand slippery from sweat. “I’ve never felt more disgusting in my life, and I used to work at a funeral home after hours as a janitor; nobody needs to see that much embalming fluid, nobody.”
Mark started to gag.
I hit him on the back. “You okay?”
“Sorry, it’s one of my things.”
“Things?”
“Every time I hear the word embalm, I’m brought back to my senior year of high school and the smell of the fluid as we dissected cats. One time, some of the…” he gagged again. “Skin got caught, and my mouth was open, and the fluid just flicked right onto my tongue.”
I stared at his face, all scrunched in an agonized grimace. “You know I’m never kissing you again, right?”
“Damn it, it was years ago!”
“Four and a half. My bet, it’s still in your system…” I leaned in and whispered. “Lingering…”
“Why must I tell you every life story that makes you want to run in the opposite direction?”
I grinned. “It’s kinda sexy.”
“Really?”
“No, embalming fluid in your mouth and you telling me about it will never be
