"I told you, Gatsby invited me, and I never miss a pity party, especially not one thrown by my beautiful best friend, Snowflake." There was laughter in his voice. He was trying to make me feel better, but that wasn't the point of a pity party. You weren't supposed feel better. It was about misery, and that's what I wanted. Him saying I was beautiful just added to the many waves of hurt. It wasn't true, and him rubbing that in didn't help.
"Go away," I said.
He answered by scooting closer, and I felt my body respond to his nearness. "I'll go away when I know you're feeling better. Professor Pops knows I'm here. He also has Salvatore and Bart on bathroom duty tomorrow. He wanted me to be sure to tell you that."
"Huh," was all I could utter, though I had to smile. "Serves them right." I sniffled.
He shifted his weight, and pushed me over slightly, then I felt something fall over me. It was the quilt my mother had made. Tears filled my eyes again, and I squeezed them shut.
"Now, I'm just going to lay down next to you until you fall asleep. I've already locked up the house, but I'll lock the back door when I leave, okay." I heard Gatsby growl, and the thud when Gabe dropped him to the floor. The bed shifted, as he got comfortable.
Then there was only breathing.
He meant it. Gabe was just going to lay there with me. I took a deep breath, and relaxed.
It reminded me of our overnighters when we were younger, sleeping out on the trampoline in our sleeping bags. The seven of them and me all started out at normal distances from each other, but by morning we'd all slid into the middle, a pajama-clad mash up of arms and legs.
I'd always been the first to wake up, and I'd lay there, listening to them breathing, and wish that was how we could be every night. Me and my brothers, sleeping under the stars.
But my stepmother had pointed out that they weren't really my brothers. They were boys, and all boys only had one thing on the brain. By the time we turned ten, the sleepovers had ended.
After a while, I fell asleep.
In my dreams there were arms wrapped protectively around me. My back tucked against his chest. Legs intertwined. And I heard a whisper. "Snow, my Snow. You aren't alone."
My heart soared with happiness in the dream, and I whispered back, "Gabe, don't leave me."
"Never, Snowflake."
Chapter 5
The sun peeked through my sheer, purple bedroom curtains, its brightness burning my eyes. I was on my side, facing my alarm clock, which said seven o'clock. Solid breathing came from behind, tickling my neck. A weight pressed against my hip-Gabe's arm. All that had happened last night came crashing back. And he was still there, in my bed, with me. I held my breath, and slowly rolled onto my back. Gabe shifted. A smile curled his lips.
"It's a bit early for a Saturday, Snowflake." His words were low, heavy with sleep.
Sexy, my mind uttered, and my heart responded by beating rapidly.
Before I could give him a comeback, my nose registered the sultry smell of bacon.
"Someone's cooking," I whispered.
"Do you think it's the psychotic murderer? He's going to feed us before he slays us?" he asked, mischievous.
I punched him in the arm. "You heard me last night?"
"Snowflake, I think the whole town heard you." He opened his eyes then. Two beautiful pools of green searched my face, lingering on my lips, before focusing on my eyes. My face bloomed red, and I looked away. "I love it when you blush."
"You do?" I couldn't believe we were lying next to each other, and he'd stayed. All night. Did he like me? What about Cindy? Should I tell him she has a thing for him? His hand rested on my stomach and I wondered if he could feel the electricity buzzing beneath.
"Snowflake, I do." He rolled onto his side, and I did the same, his fingers creating goose bumps as they moved back to my hip. Our noses practically touched, and I suddenly worried about morning breath. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I turned in my lips, pressing them together. He started laughing. "What are you doing?"
Cupping a hand over my mouth, I said, "I haven't brushed my teeth."
He grabbed my hand away. "Don't care."
Finally finding a snappy comeback, I replied, "Yeah, but what about your morning breath? It might singe my eyelashes."
He laughed, and rolled off the bed. "You have a point. Let's go see what the psychotic murderer is cooking along with that bacon."
I grinned, thankful and disappointed that the moment had ended. "I'll be down in a minute."
He raised his eyebrows in question, and I glanced in the direction of my bathroom. "Ah," was all he said as he went to the door.
A bolt of agony shot through my heart. I didn't want him to leave. I'd clung to him in my dreams last night. Awake, I realized I didn't want to stop. I needed him, with his incessant playfulness, and thoughtfulness. On top of that, well, he was hot. "Gabe," I called, hearing the tremor in my voice.
He turned back, concerned. "Yeah, Snowflake."
"Thank you." I looked down, unsure. My feelings for him were new, and a part of me wished I could go back to just being his best friend.
He walked around the bed, to where I stood, and gripped my t-shirt that used to be his in his hand, making a fist, pulling me to him. He lifted my chin with a finger, but I kept my eyes down, focusing on his masculine hands that were big, but not too big.
"Are you going to be okay?"
I nodded, unable to understand why tears stung my eyes. He pulled me into his arms, and I reciprocated with a fervor I didn't know I possessed. Tucking my face in his neck I held on as though my life depended on it.
We stayed that way a long time, until I heard snickering from the doorway.
"Professor Pops wanted me to tell you both to come down for breakfast." It was Bart.
I cleared my throat.
Gabe whispered, "Never, Snowflake." And he gave me a pointed look. My heart leapt into my throat. Maybe last night's words, and the way he'd held me, hadn't been dreams.
"Promise?" I examined his face, his eyes, to see if he was serious.
In answer he kissed my cheek, and my whole body melted like butter. "Promise."
"What are you two whispering about?" Bart asked, obviously a little uncomfortable.
Gabe squeezed my hand, and then walked over to Bart, slapping him upside his blond head. "None of your business, Towhead. Now move." He pushed Bart out the doorway, and followed him.