Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (35)

“Don’t worry, I’m always like this. Light or no light, I still wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

He stops for a beat, then heads for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Anything? My body is on high alert, and I know if he leaves I’ll lie here and stare at the ceiling thinking about him. When he’s passing the threshold, the words tumble out of me.

“Elias,” I say. He turns, and I swallow. “Will you sleep with me?”

He blinks several times.

“Sage ...” Elias starts.

“Just for tonight!” I rush out. “That couch can’t be comfortable. You’re kind of huge.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Please?” I stare up at him. “I think I’ll be able to fall asleep if there’s someone beside me. To put my mind at ease, you know.” I’m lying. That’s never worked. Sometimes Sean would come into my room after a nightmare, and I still couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

I walk right up to him. The thin T-shirt probably isn’t helping my case. “Why not? You’re hot and all, but I can keep it in my pants for one night, rookie.” I allow my finger to trail down his hard abs in a teasing move. I poke him. “Unless you don’t think you can.”

A strangled noise leaves him, and a spark of satisfaction rolls through me. I watch him for an answer, his chest rising and falling evenly like he’s weighing out the pros and cons.

Then his tense shoulders drop. “To help you sleep.”

The ground shakes, or rather, I do. His response leaves me blinking until I regain enough composure to come up with a nonchalant reply. “Yeah, yeah. Now come on, I have classes to teach in the morning.”

Elias Westbrook is following me to bed!

Elias removes his shirt. His corded back muscles flex with the movement, and his broad shoulders fall on an exhale. Lusting over your fake boyfriend should come with an advisory notice. Not that I would heed it anyway.

My internet sleuthing revealed the video that got people talking about the rookie, and I don’t blame them. He’s as sweet and attractive in the video as he is in real life. There isn’t much else needed past that point. After that, I fell into a rabbit hole of watching his Frozen Four goals and interviews. Now, this private strip show is curated for every dirty thought in my mind. I snap out of my hallucination when he glances at me, and I dive under the covers.

“Night,” I say, my voice muffled under the comforter.

“Good night, Sage.”

With one click of the lamp, we’re bathed in darkness. In the quiet of the room with the heat of his body in the king-size bed, I realize this might be my stupidest idea yet. Sleeping with my fake boyfriend, and pretending I’m not as susceptible to catching fire as a match to a flame, isn’t very bright.

Minutes pass, and I’ve reverted to counting sheep, but they start looking a lot like a bunch of shirtless Eliases, and I’m hot all over again. I flip onto my side, then curl up in the fetal position, then turn on my back once again to stare at the ceiling.

“You good?” There’s that raspy voice again. Pure torture for my overactive brain.

“Mm-hmm.” I clear my throat. “Counting sheep.”

It must be an acceptable answer because he doesn’t say anything else. I, on the other hand, have found a way to twirl horizontally to try to discover the perfect spot.

“Come here.” Elias’s deep voice cuts through the silent room and startles me.

“Are you talking to me?” I whisper.

“No, I’m talking to the other person in bed with us,” he deadpans. “I said, come here, Sage.”

The demand hits me like a jolt between the legs. There are so many other contexts in which I could imagine him saying that, but right now I can only think of one, and it’s better left unsaid. I don’t even have a comeback for his sarcasm.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and find him looking right at me. “Where?”

“Here.” He lifts his arm, like it’s the most natural thing. “You’re tossing and turning, and you said it would ease your mind if someone’s sleeping beside you, right?”

Did I say that? Sage from a few minutes ago was a complete idiot. I scoot closer, leaving plenty of space for the Holy Spirit. But as I’m frozen in place, he pulls me against him. I squeak, and I have a split moment of insanity where I want to press my ass into him. I don’t. Obviously.

“Better?” he whispers right by my ear.

No. He’s warm and cozy and safe. “Yup.”

His thumb absently strokes my stomach, and it might as well burn through my shirt. There’s something very alive under these sheets, and I’m terrified he’ll feel the pulse if he moves just a few inches lower.

The weight of his arm, the clean smell of his soap, and the even beat of his heart against my back feel all too soothing. A second ago, there was no way I would fall asleep, but after lying in his arms like this, it’s scary to admit my made-up remedy might work.

“You always smell like vanilla.” I can feel his voice in my hair. It makes me shiver.

I give an awkward chuckle, unsure what exactly is happening between us right now. Is this an invitation? Is vanilla a code word? Should I take off my clothes?