I hate feeling like a puppet in his stupid game. But that’s exactly what we are.

Josie doesn’t speak again, and soon my eyes drift shut.

“Ryan?” Josie says.

My eyes open. “Hmmm?”

“It would be okay if you came over and said hi sometime. When you’re not busy, I mean,” she adds quickly. “Sometimes my store can get a little…”

“Lonely?”

“I was going to say quiet,” she says. “But that too.”

She sounds so small and sad that I want to roll toward her and scoop her up, pull her against me, and press a kiss to the top of her head.

But of course, I don’t. I stay on my side of the bed, as close to the edge as possible.

“I’ll come say hi,” I whisper.

She yawns, a sweet and intimate sound. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

I close my eyes and drift off, too.

—

I wake to a golden glow behind my eyelids and something warm and soft pressed against my back. My eyes open slowly to see an unfamiliar room, lit by morning light filtering through lacy curtains.

The warm softness against my back? It’s Josie, spooning me from behind. One of her arms is draped over my waist, her fingertips brushing the bare skin on my stomach where my T-shirt has shifted up.

Who would’ve guessed that Josie Klein is a cuddler?

I swallow rapidly and try to figure out what to do. She’s asleep—her deep breathing gives it away, plus I’m sure she wouldn’t be doing this if she was conscious. Yes, we made out last night, and yes, I had my hand under her bra, and she almost took off my pants—but that was last night, in the dark on the beach, with champagne fuzzing our minds. It’s morning now, a new day. Somehow, this seems even more intimate.

My own breathing is shallow. I’m hard and getting harder.

It would be so easy to turn toward her and let nature take its course. See if she comes to me as easily as she did on the beach, eager and hungry. But she made it clear that this was just sleeping, and I would never want to make her feel uncomfortable.

But I also can’t stay here getting more and more aroused, so I slowly slide away, pulling the covers off my legs and slipping out of bed as carefully as possible. I glance back as she sighs and shifts onto her back, still asleep. My shoulders drop in relief.

Or disappointment?

I pause, taking in the rare sight of Josie Klein utterly at rest. Her hair is loose and wavy, her cheek creased from the pillow, her eyelashes thick and full. She’s wearing an oversized cotton T-shirt that has what looks like a dictionary entry printed on it.

Abibliophobia

noun.

1. The fear of running out of books to read.

My lips twitch in a smile.