Origami Heart (Book 3 - DP series - COMPLETE)

12. Fluffy

His eyes are still closed and it gives me the perfect opportunity to examine his face. Out of all the guys I'm friends with, I'm most shocked that Andy isn't married with children yet. Why's he not in a serious relationship, at the very least? Women have always loved him. He's tenderhearted, confident, and intuitive. The kind of man who snags people's attention like a child snagging up a handful of gummy bears. He's got the envied, strong jawline; the ever smiling, impossibly blue eyes; the straight nose; and temptingly touchable, dirty blonde hair. In short, if Mike's beautiful face wasn't blocking my view, Andy would definitely be on my radar.

But he's more than muscle and captivating features. He's also spirited and funny. No one can take a joke the way Andy does. He's easy-going and teaseable, but when he's relaxed and on the edge of sleep, his features appear slightly more sober. It's almost strange to see him without a smile on his lips. Almost. But if I'm being honest, I find this sober, unreadable Andy to be strangely enticing.

"You keep staring at me like that," he mumbles tiredly, "then I might start to think you want some of this." He uses a lazy, limp hand to motion down his body, his eyes still closed and voice half muffled by his pillow.

I laugh, using two fingers and walking them up his forearm. "Maybe I do."

He peeks one eye open, scrutinizing me for a moment. "Do you?"

He'd been teasing before, but there's a swell in the atmosphere now. Almost as if the universe is holding its breath as it waits for a response.

Rather than answer, I smack his shoulder and sit up. I hear him chuckle from his prone position as he rolls onto his back. With an exaggerated yawn, he stretches his arms, smacking me in the back of the head in the process.

"Whoops," he says unconcernedly. "Sorry."

"You just wanted an excuse to touch me again," I joke, twisting to find him staring up at the ceiling. When he feels my gaze on him, he tilts his head in my direction and shrugs.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe." Then he grabs the comforter and begins to roll himself up inside, pulling me along with it until I'm practically on top of him. But he doesn't stop there. He continues to tug until we're both on the edge of his king-sized bed and then with one final shove of his hips, I'm toppling onto the floor, a squeal passing through my lips on the way down.

"Andy!" I yell through my laughter, pushing myself up to find him rolled up in his comforter like a burrito.

"What?" he answers nonchalantly, attempting to shrug even though he's buried in his blanket.

Standing, I go to take a step and hiss, faking an injury to my ankle.

"What?" Andy asks again, only this time there's genuine concern in his voice.

"I think I sprained something with that fall."

"Crap, I'm sorry," he apologizes and then attempts to untangle himself from his own blankets. The sight has me doubled over in laughter. I swear he looks like a deranged cat trying to frantically fling tape off his paws.

He eventually topples from the bed, the comforter loosening enough to free him and then he's jumping into a standing position, his chest puffed out and a proud smile across his face—as if he's just managed to escape near death in the most heroic way possible.

"Okay," he breathes, dropping his smile and taking a step toward me where I'm still cackling. "Let me see it."

He starts to bend forward to grasp my leg so he can analyze the damage, but I instantly take off, running from his room—without even the slightest hint of a limp.