Breathe In (Just Breathe, #1)(85)

“I don’t mind. I’m actually flattered that you’re admitting it and that you remember,” he teases.

“What? Huh? No. No. No. No. No,” I contend as he steps towards me. “I don’t want to sleep with you,” my voice cracks even in a whisper. “I . . .” Backing away, I shake my head as Joe approaches. My body bangs into something behind me. I’m stuck between him and the door. “Remember what?”


“You didn’t have trouble sleeping that night,” he calmly states as our bodies touch. “Neither did I.”

What is he . . . oh! Crap. He’s right. I remember now.

“No,” I mutter.

My theory about scaring him away is definitely wrong.

“Do you want me in there with you? Do you need me in there with you?” His knuckles dance across my cheek and chin.

Do I? I don’t want to have the dream again. He’s right. I didn’t have the nightmare the night we shared the bed at Nathan’s. I’m so confused right now. I’m terrified. My body feels cold and clammy and I can sense that I’m shaking.

“Come on,” he coaxes, taking my hand, leading me out of the den.

In fifteen seconds, we are in his bedroom with Sadie and the door is closed. Wiping a tear from my face, Joe pulls me into his body and I return the embrace for some reason. We stay connected, hugging for at least a minute.

Letting go of me, Joe takes my hand as he moves the covers, guiding me to get in first. Before I’m fully situated, he climbs in and spoons me.

Breaking the silence first, I jokingly question, “Why are you on my side of the bed again?”

A small laugh escapes his throat, “I’m not. You are on my side.”

“This is my side. I slept here last night,” I share.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, like he’s deciding on what to say. Releasing his arm draped in front of me, Joe repositions the hair on my neck before tracing the side of my body all the way down to my exposed hip. “How about . . . you tell me about this, and I’ll answer why I’m on your side of the bed.” His finger circles around my right hip.

Twisting onto my back, I declare, “That’s not an even trade.”

Smiling he offers, “Okay. I’ll answer your question plus one. Any one.”

“No.”

“Any two?” he returns.

I pretend that I’m weighing his offer to make him sweat. “Four questions. And they don’t all have to be asked tonight.”

“Three and you’ve got a deal,” he negotiates.

“Fine,” I agree.

“You forget, beautiful . . . I’m not the one who has trouble opening up,” he taunts.

Ignoring his statement, I focus on getting my answer. “So? Why are you on my side of the bed?”

Playing with a lock of my hair he chuckles, “This is my side of the bed. The whole bed is my side.”

I glare at him because he knows that’s not a good enough of an answer for me.

“And, this is especially my side of the bed because you are in it.”

My face changes to furrowed brows which elicits him to explain further.

“If, God forbid, someone broke into my home and came into this bedroom, they’d have to go through me before they can get to you.”

His explanation has some logic to it.

“I have a question, but it does not count as one of my questions . . .” I begin.

Joe lifts a brow.

“This is a continuation to understand your answer and what you just said.”

He nods in agreement.

“What if that person came through the window?”

Joe laughs. “We’re in the penthouse. No one is coming through the window.”

“Still relevant to the topic at hand . . .” I push.

“Go ahead,” he muses.

To bait him further away from what he wants to know, I press, “What if, hypothetically, we weren’t in a penthouse. What if we were in a one or two story home or building, that gave easy access to the window?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Answer the question,” I urge.

“Though there is some validity to your statement, I would argue that before the person gets all the way into the room, successfully through the window, I’d already be between you and him.”

With some sarcasm in my tone, “How do you or I know whether or not you are a sound sleeper and would be awake and coherent enough to do such a thing, and . . . .”

Before I can finish, Joe has his right hand clamped on my thigh just above my knee. He only knows about that ticklish spot because of Jared. I’m surprised he remembers.

“Are you sure you want to continue this conversation?” Joe maintains an even expression I’ve never seen before.

Smirking, I consider my choices. Not giving me long enough to make a final decision, Joe squeeze his hand on my leg and I squeal and wiggle.

“Okay,” I concede.

He doesn’t move his hand away from my leg, so I give him a sideways glance.

“I’m not moving until you answer my question,” he asserts. His eyes stare into mine while he tries to conceal a smile. “Your turn.”

With a serious expression, I inquire, “What do you want to know?”