“Here,” he says, gently tugging me down onto the couch.
I blink at him, still caught somewhere between consciousness and whatever half-dream state I was in.
Tyler kneels down, unlacing my sneakers like he’s got all the time in the world.
He pulls one shoe off, then the other, tossing them neatly beside the couch.
Then he tugs off my socks, his fingers brushing lightly against my ankles.
I can’t help it – I smile at him, soft and a little stupid.
When it’s just the two of us no soccer team, no Rebecca hovering, no parties- I love him so much it almost aches.
It feels like it used to.
Simple. Easy. Good.
He looks up at me, grinning that lopsided grin that used to knock the air right out of my lungs when we first met.
“Sorry if tonight was a lot,” he says, cupping my face between his hands.
His palms are warm and steady against my cheeks.
“But I’m really glad you came,” he adds. “I loved having you there. I love showing off my girlfriend.”
He leans in, kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my nose rapid little pecks that make me giggle even though I’m still half-dazed.
I bat at him weakly. “Stop, I’m ticklish.”
“Exactly,” he says, nuzzling his face into my neck like a golden retriever. “Best reaction.”
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his hands still framing my face.
“Want me to stay the night?”
The question is soft. Careful.
Like he’s giving me the option to say no, even though he’s already half-invited himself.
I nod.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice scratchy from sleep. “Stay.”
Because of course I want that.
I want this version of him for as long as I can keep it.
He grins wider, hopping up and offering his hand to me.
“C’mon, sleepyhead.”
He pulls me to my feet, and we start the slow trek upstairs.
Halfway up, he nudges my side gently.
“Glad you’re getting along with Asher, too,” he says casually.
I snort, too tired to pretend otherwise.
“I don’t know if ‘getting along’ is the right phrase.”
He laughs, a short, breathy sound.
“Don’t take it personal. Ash doesn’t like anyone. If he’s actually talking to you, that’s practically a love letter by his standards.”
I shake my head, smiling a little despite myself.
“Good to know.”
We reach my room, and I flick on the light.
It’s the same as always – messy, a little chaotic, but mine.
I peel off my hoodie first, tossing it into the general direction of the laundry basket. Then my leggings follow, leaving me in just my tank top and underwear.
The cool air kisses my bare legs, and I shiver a little, diving under the blankets.
Tyler peels off his shirt and jeans, until he’s left in just his boxers.
He slides in next to me immediately, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in tight against him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him – sweat, laundry detergent, a little bit of something sweet underneath.
Being here, with him, feels safe,
It feels right.
And yeah, okay, things have been weird lately.
I’ve been stressed about dance, about school, about everything.
He’s been pulled in a million directions by his friends, his games, his endless social calendar.
It’s been easy to feel like we’re slipping.
Like there’s this quiet gap growing between us that neither of us really knows how to talk about.
But maybe… maybe it’s not that deep
Maybe it’s just life.
Maybe it’s just hard sometimes.
Right now, with his arms wrapped around me and his breath warm against my forehead, it doesn’t feel broken,
It feels like home.
He shifts, pulling back just enough to tip my chin
He kisses me once soft, lingering.
Then again, deeper this time. up.
I sigh against his mouth, my fingers tangling in the fabric of his boxers where they rest against his hip.
He kisses me again more insistent now, more sure and it feels like the ground tilts a little underneath me.
His hand slides up my side, slow, careful, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pulls my tank top off, taking me in, and I love the way he looks at me.
He kisses my jaw, my throat, the hollow beneath my ear, and I tilt my head back without thinking, giving him more room.
I giggle when he mouths at the sensitive spot just under my breast, and he grins against my skin.
“Ticklish?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.
“Shut up,” I mumble, tugging lightly at his hair.
He laughs – low and rough – climbs on top of me, and kisses me again, deeper, harder, until I’m breathless and the world outside this bed, outside this room, outside of him, stops existing.
-4
I wake up to an empty bed and a suspiciously heavy blanket cocooning me like I might try to escape,
For a second, I’m still half-asleep, blinking up at the celling and trying to remember where I am, what day it is, why I feel weirdly happy
Then it hits me.
Last night.
Tyler’s arm around my waist, his laugh low against my ear, the way he kissed me everywhere like he could make me laugh just by breathing too close.
It wasn’t perfect – but it was ours.
The good kind of messy.
The real kind.
I roll over, pushing the blanket off, and spot a little neon pink post-it note stuck to the edge of my nightstand, fluttering slightly in the draft from the window.
9AM practice. Love you.
His handwriting looks like it barely survived the pen.
I grin, still bleary, and press the note down flat with my palm like it might somehow preserve the way my chest feels – light and stupid and way too full.
Tyler’s gone.
Practice waits for no man, apparently.
And for the first time in what feels like years, I have nothing I absolutely have to do today.
No class.
No rehearsal.
No parent-mandated dentist appointment hanging over my head.
Just… space.
The thought should thrill me, but instead, it feels like standing swim. on the edge of a really tall diving board and realizing you’re not sure how to
Still.
I can’t just lay here all day like a soggy croissant.
I sit up, rubbing my face, and realize belatedly that I’m wearing exactly half the amount of clothing I fell asleep ich means nothing
Thanks for that, Tyler.
I yank on the first pair of underwear and leggings I find, and look for last night’s tank top.
Once I’m somewhat decent, I head straight to the barre installed along the far wall of my room.
Just because I don’t have official practice doesn’t mean I get to slack off.
That’s how you end up with pulled hamstrings and shattered dreams.
I plant my foot on the barre, bend forward into a stretch, and exhale slowly.
It feels good.
Grounding.
My body knows the routine better than my brain does muscle memory kicking in while my mind floats somewhere else entirely.
Mostly back to Tyler – the way he whispered dumb jokes against my hair, the way he kissed me like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
It had been just kissing. Well, maybe a little more.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.