Page 27 of Guarding the Star

“No. It's not too much to ask,” I murmur, pulling off my pants and getting into bed next to her.

She gives me her back, but presses herself against me. I wrap my arm around her waist, and she takes my hand, strokes my thumb, and falls asleep.

No television. No podcast. No noise.

I lie as still as I can and think that this breaks every rule.

I think about Valentina.

I think that this isn't the same.

Iris murmurs something in her sleep. She turns and tucks herself against my shoulder. A strand of hair falls across her face. I brush it back, careful not to wake her.

Chapter 9

Iris

The first thing I think when I wake up is that I need to pee.

The second is that Paula Delgado is asleep next to me.

The third is that I smell a little bad, and she's asleep next to me.

I don't move, because if I do, she wakes up, and if she wakes up, I can't watch her sleep, which for some reason I love.

She looks like an entirely different person. Someone who isn't scanning for emergency exits or checking locks. It's the first time I've seen her like this. No control. No armor.

I should stop staring. It's a little creepy, even for me, but she has a mole on her collarbone that I've never noticed before, and her eyelashes are longer than I thought.

After a while, I'm afraid I'm crossing the line from observation into stalking, so I look away.

On the nightstand, there's a note.

A page torn from the notebook Paula always carries. Small handwriting, tilted slightly to the right, blue ink.

“Checked the entrances. All clear. P.”

She got up in the middle of the night to check the apartment, wrote it down, and came back to bed. Who crawls out of a warm bed at night to make sure everything's fine and then climbs back in?

I put the note in the drawer. Next to my headphones, the charger, and a granola bar that's probably expired and I should throw out. I don't know why I keep the note. I don't know why I don't throw out the bar either.

“Hi,” I whisper when I see her open her eyes.

She just smiles, and it's so pretty I want to see it every morning.

“Your hair is terrible,” she says.

“Jesus, Paula. Is that how you say good morning?” I groan.

“Good morning, Iris.”

I lie back down, facing each other, a foot apart.

“Thanks for staying,” I murmur, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“I told you I'd spend the night.”

“Yeah, but I figured you'd leave before I woke up. That's what I would've done,” I admit. “You know, to dodge the awkward part.”