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I see him watching me through my peripheral vision. I can’t escape it. His attention wraps around me, adding to the warmth ignited by the vodka.
“If you’re staying, you should at least catch some zs.” He pushes to his feet, grabs a cushion from the closest recliner, then sits back down. “Here.” He pats the makeshift pillow on his lap. “Lie down.”
“No, I’m good. Honest.” I finish the last of the vodka in one gulp and place the glass on the coffee table.
“Please, Keira. At some point tomorrow I’ll have to sleep, and I need to know you’re going to be able to stay awake while I’m out of it.” He pats the cushion again. “Come on. Trust me.”
It’s not merely a case of dominating the exhausting T-word I can’t seem to wrangle. There’s more. So much more. And I can’t share a single word of it with him.
“It’s only for a few hours,” he whispers. “You’ll feel better once the sun comes up.”
It’s ridiculous how long I remain silent pretending contemplation when my mind is already made up.
“I’ll just rest for a little while.” I stretch out, slowly inching myself closer to press my head on the cushion.
He peers down at me, dark and intense. I can’t look away. I don’t want to. There are answers in those soulful eyes, and I need to hear them all.
“Sleep, sunshine.”
“With you staring at me?” I purr.
He grabs a remote from the armrest and switches off the television, plunging the room into darkness. “That better?”
No, it’s not. Not even close.
I can still see him. Can still feel his severity bearing down on me through the shadows, inching its way under my skin.