My eyes open. I sit up and peek over the side of my bed, careful not to make noise.
She’s still there.
Kate’s mouth is parted halfway, her deep, even breaths passing through her pink lips.
My eyes travel down, away from her face. Her restlessness during the night has moved the blanket to the foot of the bed. Now she only has the sheet, and it’s tangled in her legs. My white T-shirt has bunched at her waist. The twisted sheet exposes one half of her bottom curves. My heart beats faster. I roll my eyes at my excitement. It’s like she’s wearing bikini bottoms. No big deal.
But it is a big deal. I saw what happened inside her last night. As if her skin were translucent, I saw everything that went on in her head. And her body. She was at war with herself.
She’s attracted to me.
But does she love me?
I would never do anything casual with Kate. Talk about ruining things between us. We’ve come too far to ever be bed buddies.
I want her love. I want her every morning and every night. I want to marry her and have babies with her and be by her side until we’re old and wrinkled. I want her in the spaces between seconds, when the clock tells a boring story of time filled with nothingness.
I want her in moments of nothingness.
Does she want me the same way?
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