Call it Love

27| Us

I nodded. 

"It doesn't have to be love right away just because you two have history," Aunt Janice added. "But at least admit you like him." 

"I do! I do, okay? But that doesn't mean we can just talk—" 

"Yes, it does," they all replied in sync. "He's been sitting there rambling to that bartender about you the whole night. I was there," Aspen scoffed. "He really likes you, Em. I don't know if he did or didn't in the past, but he does now. Don't lose that over nothing." 

And now here I am.

I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow morning when he wakes up if he remembers everything, but at the same time, I didn't want him to forget what happened tonight. I did like him. A lot. But I won't say it until he does. I want to hear it from him. I never told him when we were younger, scared that he'd reject me or say he doesn't feel the same way. I know that is not likely to happen this time around but it's still intimidating to be the first one to say it. I wanted to hear it from him, sober. 

I tried pushing his leg off mine but he groaned softly and pulled it back up. He won't let me get out of bed and I have to write. I finally had a new idea while thinking about everything and I have to get it down before it leaves my mind and I forget all about it. 

When he shuffled more, I knew he was awake. He stretched, a small squeak coming from the back of his throat. 

I turned to look at him as he opened his eyes, rolling onto his side to face me. "Good morning," I said softly. 

He frowned and then rolled the other way, checking the time on his phone and then rolling back to me. He rubbed his eyes. "Why are you awake at three in the morning?" he asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly. 

"I'm writing," I answered, glancing at my screen. 

"At this hour?" 

I shrugged. "I had a new idea, I had to get it down. Did the typing wake you up?" 

"Kind of." 

"Well, you wouldn't let me go, otherwise, I would have sat at the table." 

"I don't care," he sighed, closing his eyes again but whining, "It's so hot in here." 

"Are you still drunk?" I watched in amusement as he buried his face into a pillow. 

"Maybe just a little bit," he mumbled, flipping onto his back. He unbuttoned his sleeves and started unbuttoning his shirt. I looked away quickly and continued typing, resisting the urge to glance when I heard the shirt land on the floor with a rustle. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed and inching closer to me, throwing a leg over both of mine again. 

"I told you, I'm writing," I said, still typing. 

"Something new?" 

"Mm-hmm." 

"Are you ever going to tell me what Tainted Hearts is about?" 

I looked at him as he propped up his elbow and rested his head on a closed fist, opening his eyes and looking at me. "You suddenly don't seem so drunk," I commented.