Don't Look Down

thirty-two: don't say you're in love

Love.

For the first time I know what it feels like. Somehow it's both enchanting and terrifying. Especially when you realize you've fallen in love with a man like Seth Carter. Someone who doesn't even love themself.

He's punching his pillow in an attempt to get comfortable on the couch in our motel room. I shouldn't be surprised; it's what he sleeps on every night in our apartment. Just because we'd had emotionally stimulating sex where I saw everything he won't verbally admit, doesn't mean he's ready to face that revelation just yet. But that in itself showcases I'm in over my head. I can't even get the man to sleep in the same bed as me. How am I ever going to get him to share his heart?

But I'd tried to remain pragmatic, tried to keep a firm grasp on my own heart. It's simply been slipping for too long. That paired with the emotions I'd finally seen from him are why I don't attempt to pull it back into my chest. They say the heart wants what it wants, and mine wants him. Whether it's a wise choice or not.

As Seth flops uncomfortably onto his side on the couch, I say, "Just get over here." It's where I want him anyway.

He hesitates, probably contemplating which option results in the least consequences, before he throws off the blanket.

"You're a bossy thing tonight. First sex, now sleeping arrangements."

"Someone's taught me the importance of demanding what I want from life." I slap the comforter. "Right now that's you in bed with me."

He cocks a brow, amused by my boldness. "Is that so?"

"Yep."

He doesn't resist, stepping across the room, sliding in next to me. However, he doesn't reach for me, instead choosing to place his hands underneath his pillow. It's discouraging but not entirely unexpected. He isn't exactly the snuggling type.

I flip off the lamp on the nightstand, cloaking the room in darkness. Without my sight, I'm hyperaware of his motions, of his body heat tempting me to reach out. It would be easy to mold myself along the hard planes of his, to fall asleep enclosed in his arms. But I digress, choosing to settle with the conquest of having him share my bed. It's another first, same as the hand linking, sensual sex, and exposed emotions.

I bury my head into my pillow and smile over those things.

But Seth begins shuffling under the sheets, and throughout the following five minutes he tosses and tumbles, pulling sheets as he shifts from his left side to his back to his right. He's restless and it's driving me nuts.

"What's wrong?"

It's pitch black, shielding his face, which makes it easier to pinpoint the aggravation when he says, "I'm uncomfortable."

"Because we're in the same bed." I feel the slap of that truth against my chest. So much for tiny victories. They mean nothing when the man you love can't bear sleeping in the same bed as you.