Scripted to Be

Chapter Twenty-One: Not That Kind of Woman

POV: Lauren

Lauren stirred slowly, caught somewhere between a half-finished dream and the warmest pillow in existence. Except the pillow moved.

It tightened around her, pulling her close, and suddenly she remembered: it wasn't a pillow.

It was Steven.

His arms were wrapped securely around her waist, her back flush against his chest, their legs tangled like twisted vines under the throw blanket. The living room still smelled faintly of broth, fabric softener, and whatever conditioner Steven used that made her want to bury her face in his neck forever.

She groaned softly, shifting.

Steven mumbled into her shoulder, "You good?"

"You're crushing me," she rasped, her voice still wrecked from sleep and lingering fever. "I'm gonna break. And not in the way I'd prefer."

He laughed. Loudly.

A second later, another voice chimed in, dry and amused from the armchair.

"I heard that," Emily said, sipping from a coffee cup like she lived for moments like this.

Lauren's eyes flew open.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

She turned her head slowly—there was Emily, perched like a smug little gremlin, one eyebrow arched halfway to heaven.

"I—" Lauren started.

"Don't even try," Emily said. "Your face says it all."

Steven didn't help. In fact, he grinned wider, not even pretending to be embarrassed. He just nuzzled closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You know," he mused, "when she's finally better, I'm taking her somewhere very far away. Like the woods. Or an underground bunker."

Emily blinked. "Why?"

"So the neighbors won't complain about her moaning," he said casually, lips twitching with the effort not to laugh at his own joke.

Lauren gasped, smacked his chest—hard—but she was also very, very red.

"I am not that kind of woman!"

Steven tilted his head, deadly serious. "Maybe it's just because you've never had sex with me."

Her jaw dropped. "Steven!"

He just shrugged like he'd asked her what time it was.

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't have sex with friends."

Emily, still watching like this was better than television, casually sipped her coffee and said, "Well then, I guess you two need to change the label. Fast."

Lauren opened her mouth to argue—again—but nothing came out. Her brain short-circuited somewhere between Emily's smirk and Steven's very pleased expression.

"I'm going back to bed," she muttered, trying to untangle herself.

Steven didn't let go.

"You're already in bed," he said, squeezing her lightly.

Emily stood up with a sigh. "When you two finally get it together—and by together I mean naked—I am not taking care of either of you during recovery. You've used up all my sympathy."

She left the room with her coffee, calling over her shoulder, "And I'm locking my door tonight!"

Lauren buried her face into Steven's shirt.

Steven chuckled into her hair.

"You're awful," she mumbled.

"I know. But you're smiling."

And, damn it, she was.

Emily's footsteps disappeared down the hallway, and the apartment went still again—except for the steady, annoying rhythm of her heartbeat, which had picked up speed like someone hit the gas pedal and never looked back.

Steven hadn't moved. His arm was still slung over her waist, fingers gently brushing the edge of her T-shirt. His breath was warm at her neck.

And when he kissed her shoulder, it didn't feel like a joke anymore.

Lauren shifted slightly, just enough to look back at him. His eyes were open now, soft and unreadable.

He kissed her again—closer to her jaw this time.

Then her cheek.

Then the corner of her mouth.

She turned the rest of the way, closing the tiny gap between them.

Their lips met, slow and warm, more curious than desperate. Familiar, but still new. Like kissing someone you'd known forever but never let yourself want—until it was too late to pretend you didn't.

She sighed into him. His hand slid to her lower back.

Another kiss. Longer this time.

Lauren threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. He shifted, rolling slightly to press her beneath him. The blanket tangled around them. His body pressed gently over hers, careful but present, and she didn't care about anything except the way his mouth was trailing heat down her neck—

Then came the cramp.

Sharp. Low. Unforgiving.

"Ow," she breathed, trying to push back just slightly.

Steven instantly froze.

Her face scrunched as she held her stomach. "Okay. Not... ideal."

His head shot up. "Shit—did I hurt you?"

"No. Just—body betrayal. Again." She exhaled and tried to laugh, but even that made her wince.

Steven pulled back, his weight off her in an instant, but his hand stayed on her hip, grounding her.

"Okay. Sexy time is canceled. Rescheduled. Postponed until further notice," he said, clearly panicking a little.

She laughed through the pain, touching his cheek. "You're cute when you spiral."

"Don't compliment me while you're in pain. It's very manipulative."

She gave a sleepy smirk. "You like it."

"I do. But I'm still annoyed about it."

He helped her sit up slowly, wrapping the blanket around her again like he was tucking in a very sarcastic burrito.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, "This sucks."

"I know," he said. "But when you're better—"

"When I'm better, you're not getting out of it."

"Good. Because I already cleared my weekend."

She looked up at him.

He kissed her forehead.

And even though the moment didn't end how either of them planned, it still felt like a promise.