FIRST KISS (High School Romance - FYI - In need of redrafting/rewrites)

Chapter Thirty-Two

I woke up pretty early, so early, in fact, that it was still dark outside. I barely slept at all, unable to completely relax, knowing that there was someone else in my bed.

The person I most wanted in my bed, was in it.

At some point in the night Bryce must have woken up, because his shoes and jeans were in a heap on the floor, and he had taken the painkillers and drunk most of the glass of water.

He had also climbed under the covers, and if I just shifted the tiniest bit, I would be touching him. I could literally feel the heat of his body; I could smell it.

Alcohol. Sweat. Bryce. That was how he smelt. If I had held a match in front of his mouth he would probably have breathed fire. When he woke up, he would still be drunk; I was sure of it.

He rolled towards me with a groan and slung his arm outside the cover, where it landed across my hips. I held my breath and kept really really still, lying on my back, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

I stayed like that for a while, until I rolled onto my side and stared at him properly, feeling his sleeping arm bump over my hip as I slowly shifted to face him. In the dawn light he looked like a creature from a dream; perfectly still, perfectly beautiful.

Stop perving on him! I reproached myself, and looked away, but it was only moments before I looked back again.

A phone started vibrating, making me jump. It wasn't mine, which was lying dead on my bedside table. It must have been Bryce's, buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. Who could have been calling that early? I debated whether or not I should try and find it and answer it, but the idea of lifting up the jeans he had worn last night, and sliding my hands into the pockets, was too much. It was a liberty; an invasion of his being. I couldn't touch the pants he had unbuttoned and pulled over his legs, stepping out of them...

Suddenly the phone began to ring and I dived for it, toppling out of bed head first and scrabbling about trying to find it. Back pocket. Silenced. Phew.

"Whaaaa?" It was half word, half groan; deep and guttural.

Shit. Bryce was awake.

"Mel? What the fuck?" He tried to get up, but sank back down immediately; I could just imagine the pounding in his head right now; the waves of nausea rippling like the Atlantic in his stomach. "Oh god."

"How do you feel?" I asked, standing up before sitting on the side of the bed.

"Awful. I don't think I've ever felt so bad." He rolled his eyes, one hand pressed to his forehead. "How did I get here?"

I pursed my lips in a disapproving smile, but I was repressing genuine laughter. "I think you ran."

He covered his face with his hands. "I feel horrendous."

"Can I get you anything?"

"A new head?"

I laughed and took the opportunity to crawl back into bed, pulling the covers up to my neck. The room was cold; I guessed the timing on the central heating hadn't kicked in yet. And besides, I was exhausted, although the adrenaline rushing through my body was creating the illusion of an intense alertness.

"What do you remember?" I asked.

He rolled onto his back. "Not much. I drank a lot. Loads."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just in the mood for a blowout." I knew he was lying; his eyelid twitched, which was a dead giveaway. It was why I always won when we played cards, and he had no control over it.