THE WARMTH OF my bed is at war with the chilled air around me, grazing my bare back as I bury my face further in my pillow. A soft moan falling from my lips as I hug my pillow tightly, slipping my hands over the smooth sheets. Last night feels like a dream, or better explained, an out-of-body experience. Nothing feels real and I almost don't believe it is, but my lips curl up because I know it wasn't. It happened. We happened, and it makes my heart race.
My hand slips out from under my pillow and across the mattress towards Greyson's side of the bed, prepared to trace my fingers over his arm. And when I come up empty, feeling nothing but more mattress, my stomach drops. I turn my head to see he's gone, and I immediately think the worse as I turn, bringing the comforter up to my chest as I try to sit up.
Before my imagination can get the best of me, worried that maybe he's changed his mind, Greyson steps into the doorway with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his waist. There's the ease of a smile on his lips that settles my heart. There's just something so raw about the way he looks at me, like he's seeing me for the first time.
"Good morning, gorgeous."
"Hi," I say, biting my lip as I rest my head gently against his pillow, running my hand over my face. "I... you're here."
His lips curl up as he walks towards my bed. "Of course, I am. Where else would I be?"
"I don't know... I just, I thought maybe you regretted what happened when I woke up and you weren't here." I swallow, my chest pounding in fear that he'll laugh at me for overthinking as usual.
I wait in anticipation for his laughter to come out, but instead he kneels on the mattress and leans down. "I don't regret anything that happened last night, Robyn."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." He leans in to kiss me when I put my finger up against his lips, stopping him. His eyes fill with question as he looks at me.
"I have morning breath." I frown.
"I don't care," he says with the shake of his head.
I smile despite it, pouting as I drop my finger from his lips. "I care."
He drops his head with a sigh, resting his head against my shoulder before pushing up on his hands. "Alright, go brush your teeth so I can kiss you."
A laugh falls from my lips as I crawl over to the side of the bed, pulling the sheet with me as I creep towards the door. Greyson follows me towards the bathroom, watching me with a warm gaze. It's impossible for me to keep the butterflies at bay in my stomach as I reach for my toothbrush, trying to maintain my focus with his watchful eye.
"You know, that's not as cute as you think it is," I tell him after rinsing my mouth, his eyes still on me as I reach for my moisturizer on the countertop.
"You don't think so?" he ask as he walks up behind me, his hands moving over my waist and toward my hips as he wraps his arms around me. A small hum falls from my lips as I shake my head, egging him on further as he moves my hair to the side, pressing small kisses to my neck and jaw. "How about now?"
"I don't know if cute is the right word."
"What word would you use instead?" he mumbles against my skin as he moves the sheet from the shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses in its place. The gesture is so sweet and gentle that it makes me sway, leaning back into his touch to catch my breath. He's driving me crazy, the singular action of his touch tormenting me.
Humming gently, I tilt my head to the side as he kisses up my neck. "Devious."
"Devious?" he asks, whispering against my skin. "Interesting."
"Interesting, maybe." I nod slowly, turning his in his arms to face him. "But correct."
He grins and my heart flutters in excitement knowing that it's just for me as he moves his hands from my waist to hold my face in his hands. There's something so easy about this—so natural—that I haven't even stopped to question what this means. Where do we go from here? And when he leans forward, kissing me so gently that I think I might become putty in his hands, it doesn't even matter. I forget to worry about what comes next.
None of it matters.
"Okay, enough of this," he says, and a gasp falls from my lips when he leans down, scooping me up into his arms. It's quickly replaced with my laugh as I wrap my arms around his neck to hold myself up as he flicks the light to the bathroom off.
I half expect him to carry me back to my room, but when he goes the opposite direction—towards his—my heart races. Something about being invited into his room feels more intimate, like I'm not disposable. This is just as real for him as it is for me. He keeps proving that, and somehow, I keep letting my thoughts wander off that he might just change his mind.
He hums as he sets me down on the edge of the bed, moving his hand to the small of my back to move me up the mattress. A small gasp falling from my lips as I fall back, sinking into the memory foam topper as I move my hands over the comforter.
"Damn," I say, arching my back as I move back. "You've been holding out on me."
He doesn't acknowledge my comment, just climbs on top of me, leaning down to kiss me. I lean up, bringing my hand up to his neck as he moves his hand under the bed sheet. His calloused hands forming shivers on my skin. His taste intoxicating me. His touch exciting me.
"Can we just stay in bed all day?"
I grin as I move my hand to his chest, gently pushing him onto his back as I lean over to hover over top of him. "Absolutely."
It doesn't feel possible to be this full of happiness, but I am. There is something magical about finally experience a moment you've imagined in your head over and over again. This, Greyson—kissing him, touching him—it's all better than I ever imagined it would be.
And it quickly deflates when I remember.
"Except we have dinner plans tonight," I tell him, remembering we made plans with Isla to hang out with Stevie, Felix, Isaac, and Micah before they go home. And while I try to ignore my feelings, I can't help but think what will happen when we leave the bubble that is this apartment.
"No," he says, shaking his head as he pulls me tightly against his chest and kisses the hallow of my throat. "Let's cancel."
"We can't."
"But we can," he says, kissing my cheek. "We just call them," he mumbles, kissing along my jaw. "And tell them we're not coming."
"As much fun as that sounds," I say and lean back to put space between us. "They're leaving tomorrow."
"That's fine."
"Grey!"
"Come on!" He frowns. "I like bed. I like you in my bed."
"I'll make you a deal," I tell him. "We can stay in bed until we have to leave, and the moment dinners done, we'll come right back here."
"Promise?"
I nod my head as we're interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing on the nightstand. He groans, kissing my cheek before sitting it up.
"Let me just turn that off," he tells me as he reaches for it to silence the incoming call when he pauses. "Uh, actually, I have to take this."
"Okay," I say as I sit up, pulling the sheet up with me as he brings the phone to his ear. My lips curling up slightly when his free hand moves to rest on my thigh, pulling my legs over to rest between his, urging me to come closer.
"Hey Jonas," he says into the receiver. "What's up?"
I lean toward him, kissing his shoulder as he rubs small circles with his thumb over my skin. His voice growing more serious as I try to make out Jonas' voice on the other end before deciding to mind my own business. Whatever it is, it makes Greyson's hand tense over my leg.
"Seriously?" he asks. "Okay, yeah, I'll, uh, I'll be right there."
My lips curl down until he turns his head, dropping his phone to the nightstand. "What?"
"You're not going to believe this," he says, shaking his head. "Jonas and me recorded a song together. The one I wrote, and we passed it along to record executives, who loved it and want to meet with me to talk about my future as an artist for the label."
"What?" I gasp at the information. "Greyson, that's amazing! I knew you had it in you."
A smile crosses his lips, matching his already grinning eyes, and it nearly knocks the wind out of me. I've never felt so adored as he leans into me, kissing me gently and then more roughly as he pulls me closer, resting his hand on my hips as he lifts me to straddle his waist.
"Thank you."
I shake my head. "You have nothing to thank me for."
"Yes, I do," he argues. "You pushed me, Robyn. You got me on a stage by myself and encouraged the confidence I had to actually express my interest in being an artist."
"That was all you."
"No," he says. "It's you. It's always been you."