"We'll talk about your laundry, too. I need more shirts to sleep in."

"Christ," I return, the smile not leaving my face.

"We'll also talk about your room. What the h.e.l.l did you do in here?"

"I was mad," I explain without emotion.

"You threw your guitar?" she asks. I hadn't realized she might have seen what I had done before crashing earlier. Acting like a p.i.s.sed-off teenager, I ripped my room apart.

"It's old. It was a piece of s.h.i.t anyway."

"Still. If I'd have done that . . ."

"You've thrown things."

"Paperclips, maybe."

"Right," I reply sarcastically. "I'll clean it all up in the morning."

"I'm not helping."

"Good."

"Good," she returns quickly then holds me tighter.

A few minutes later, I'm forced to open my eyes.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" I ask, feeling her body move back and forth, jarring me as it does.

"What am I doing?"

"Sarah," I start, hoping to not embarra.s.s her. It's hard to keep a straight face. "Do you still rock yourself to sleep at night?"

She tenses in my arms before answering indirectly. "You've put me to bed before. Why are you asking this?"

"No," I draw out. "I've carried you to bed before. You were always already asleep when I did."

"Fine," she huffs. "When I'm not exhausted, I may move a little to get myself to sleep."

"You rock," I correct her, rubbing the back of her head.

"You don't have to point that s.h.i.t out like it's all bad."

"I'm not," I smile into her hair and she feels my body jump with a laugh I'm holding in.

"Stop!"

"You're funny."

"f.u.c.k you."

"When you were a kid, I remember Bean putting you in time out when you wouldn't sit still. It used to p.i.s.s her off you'd rock yourself to sleep trying to run your energy out."

She huffs again. "I can't go to sleep right away. A lot of people have the same problem."

"All right," I concede. "Rock away. Your secret is safe with me."

"Better be," she returns, pinching the skin of my ribs.

"Sleep, Sarah."

"Don't tell me what to do, Travis."

Those are the last words I hear before I close my eyes to sleep, oddly realizing she's said them to me at least a thousand times since I've known her.

Crazy girl.

CHAPTER NINE.

Sarah AFTER TRAVIS FELL asleep, I found it impossible to close my eyes, so I lay next to him; my arm around his waist, my legs wrapped in his, and watched him sleep. I relived every touch, every breath, and every second of our hours together.

If someone had asked me months ago, before the funeral, if I'd ever end up in Travis's bed, I would've laughed and told them they were nuts. Even the night of Hayden and Lacey's wedding feels so small and meaningless in comparison to what we've grown to be.

The night of the wedding, I had gotten drunk. Really f.u.c.king drunk. Travis and I had been hanging out all day, trying to stay out of everyone's way. When it was just us, he was so different.

We were sitting on Hayden's dad's couch making fun of all our friends; it wasn't nice but it was something we always did. When I reached over his body to grab another beer, Travis grabbed my face and kissed me. I was shocked, but let it continue.

Some fumbling later, I was on my back, he was on top of me. My hands were up his shirt and that's when my knee came up to push against his d.i.c.k. He stopped. He felt guilty because I was only seventeen. He apologized profusely and we talked it out, over more beers of course, and ended up lying with each other the rest of the night.

It didn't feel awkward until Hayden and Lacey came down and busted in on our evening together. I ended up faking a headache and asking Ace to come get me. Looking back, I get why Travis was so p.i.s.sed the night after Bean's funeral.

I'd called Ace to come get me; only it wasn't about a stolen kiss or gentle caress.

I broke his heart.

I never want to make him feel that way again.

After we had s.e.x last night, Travis didn't say much. It's not unusual for Travis not to talk, especially when he's lost in his own head, but after what happened I thought he'd have something to say-anything. But he didn't, and neither did I.

He was asleep an hour later when I carefully rolled out of his bed to avoid waking him. He didn't wake up as I grabbed my clothes and headed to the bathroom to shower. He still didn't wake up at three a.m. when I finished dressing and went into my own room to catch a metaphoric breath.

When I examined myself in my bedroom mirror, my face looked tired from my body's exertion. My lips were still pink from his mouth aggressively taking them, and my chest was red from his stubbled jaw, and extremely sensitive to the touch.

I've only had s.e.x with one person before Travis and it was an epic disaster. I was drunk then too. I was at a party and was angry at those I thought were ignoring me at the time. Lacey had come waltzing into our lives and she had taken Hayden away from me. My thinking wasn't rational, but at the time it didn't matter. Travis was seeing a woman named Kate. I didn't necessarily dislike her, but felt she was taking some parts of Travis away from me. I ended up looking for acceptance the only place I thought I'd find it. In a stranger's bed, with most of my clothes still on, as he took my virginity and never looked back to see me crying afterwards.

The feeling of having Travis against and inside me, pushing me to accept him the way he was, was emotionally demanding. His words of encouragement, telling me to let go, forced me to feel something I didn't recognize.

It was a connection to him that's always been there, but until last night has never been so . . . present. I wasn't prepared for the fear that came after.

As I stood in my room, contemplating what do, I started to feel sick. I knew what we had done, again, but this time I knew there was no chance to backpedal my way out of it. There were no more excuses that my heart would allow me to make. There weren't any more reasons to resist what's been unfolding for far longer than I ever have known.

Travis Nikels has always belonged to me.

As I'm sitting at the table this morning, sorting through my Olivia-vandalized purse, I hear Travis rummaging through his room. The sound of dresser drawers closing causes me to jump. I feel a pang of anxiety knowing I'm about to face him for our first real morning together.

Not being a morning person myself, I realize the importance of taking a few minutes to wake up. I give it to him as he comes from his room, stops in the hall to give me a soft look, and then continues on his way to the kitchen. He's wearing an old pair of faded black jogging pants and he's shirtless. He has sleep lines on his face and chest. It's hard to look away.

As I gather the rest of my things strewn about the table and throw them into my purse, I focus on him standing near the couch, but notice he doesn't make a move to sit.

"Good morning," I start.

His voice is raspy, and a little accusing. "Where were you when I woke up?"

His body is tense, and I don't know what else he's about to say. Maybe he feels much differently than I do. Maybe he woke up and thought last night was another of my life's colossal f.u.c.k ups and now he's left to pick up the pieces and repair it.

Looking around at the table in front of me, I motion with my arms where I've been. He's too p.i.s.sed off to notice the gesture of my answer so I use words. "I've been here since I showered earlier this morning."

Bringing himself over to the table, he puts his juice down, grabs a chair, pulls it out, and sits across from me.

"Last night . . ." he starts, looking at his hands resting in his lap. I hold my breath waiting to hear what he's about to say.

Don't tell me you regret this. Please don't tell me you're sorry and it was all a mistake.

He runs his hands over his face, then through his short, strawberry-blond hair that's darkened from the winter months, and pauses before continuing. "I woke up this morning and thought you bolted."

Understandable.

"I didn't bolt, Trav. I couldn't sleep, so I got up and showered and came out early to make my coffee."

He exhales in relief and I realize that since we've just started I've now got to prove myself worthy; prove that I won't run from this as I'm sure he expects me to.

"I didn't like fallin' asleep with you beside me, then wakin' up and findin' you gone."

"Well," I draw out, "I won't tell you it won't happen again. You sleep like the dead. I wake up early and happy every day."

Such a lie, but it gets him to smile as I hoped it would. I wake up cranky as f.u.c.k; I know this and have been told so by anyone who's witnessed my early morning temperament.

"Hard not to sleep like the dead," he says. "After I was rocked so long I crashed. Christ, I didn't think one person could move so much. Figures it'd be you who could."

My nose scrunches as I hold the coffee away from my lips. "Did you just make a joke?"

"No, not really. What if I did?"

"We'd have to work on your delivery. You're not a funny person."

"I may not be, but I also don't rock in my sleep."

"f.u.c.k off," I reply, smiling, putting down the cup.

Reaching across the table, he moves my coffee out of the way, and I wince slightly as he pulls it to his side of the table. Thinking he's about to drink it, I smile. Trav hates the taste of fresh-ground morning goodness.

He stares at it briefly before his eyes meet mine and I watch his hard stare for a few seconds, not understanding what he's after.

"What the h.e.l.l are you staring at?"

"Thought maybe you'd see your coffee move to a different seat, you'd catch on that you're supposed to follow it."

Rolling my eyes, not committing verbally to my annoyance, I stand and walk to where he's sitting. I'm about to carefully lower myself to his lap when he pulls me down onto him with a tug to my arm. I land hard and brace my hand on the table.

"Aggressive!" I shout.

His arms relax and he allows me to situate myself so I'm straddling his lap with my back to the table. Sitting back, I lean my elbows on it.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, wrapping his wrist around my hair, which has fallen down my back.

"No, but you could've asked me to come over and say hi."

"Not that, Sarah. I meant last night. Are you sore?"

Yes, but the good kind. I noticed this morning my inner thighs held an ache, but it's not worth mentioning, so I don't. "I'm fine."

Leaning his face to mine, he smirks before informing me, "I'm going to kiss you good morning now."

I smirk back and nod my agreement.

The morning kiss turns into a fumbling session when Trav realizes I'm not wearing anything under his boxers. His hand makes its way up my shirt after realizing I'm not wearing a bra either.

"You're going to be the death of me," he tells me, finally pulling back and leaning back against the chair, taking me with him so I'm leaning my front against his chest.

"I was before, remember? Broken heart and all that?"

His expression turns serious before he replies, "Too soon, Sarah. Not enough time has pa.s.sed for your jokes."

"Sorry," I answer quietly.

"And never enough f.u.c.kin' time could pa.s.s for that to be funny."

"Sorry," I repeat, this time not as quietly.

"We'll work on your delivery," he states, smiling wider than I ever remember him smiling before.

"Kiss my a.s.s."