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Indie
THE NEXT MORNING, from the heavy sunlight slipping through the curtains, I know it’s late when I wake up. Jem’s body is huge and warm as a furnace under my sheets, and so much of it is touching me. His arm is slung over my midriff, snuck under the grey t-shirt I slipped on last night and splayed over the skin of my stomach. 
My skin burns up at each point of contact his skin makes with mine. Which is many, many places. And when everything plays back in my mind like a blurry film reel, my cheeks practically boil with heat. 
When I move, Jem must sense it, because he stirs from his sleep.
I panic, lifting up the sheets and covering my face as I hide under them.
“Indie?” His voice is raspy. Heavy with sleep and entirely delicious.
My voice is muffled by the sheets, my heart lodged in my throat when I answer. “What?” 
He huffs a laugh. “Quit hiding your face.”
A nervous sound bubbles up my throat. “I can’t. Go away.”
Jem just laughs harder. “Christ, you’re so fucking cute.”
He whips the cover off me and I let out a squeal of protest as the cold air rushes in, but he ignores it, pressing his mouth to mine in the kind of kiss you get from a puppy. 
“Jem, stop,” I groan, “I still need to brush my teeth.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t care.” 
He looks down at me, and for a moment, all the humor in his gaze burns away as it turns serious, and there’s a storm roiling in the grey of his eyes. Then, I blink, and it’s gone. He pauses to take a quick glance at the clock at my bedside. “Shit, I’m going to miss my flight.”
And then I remember, amidst all the flashes from last night – he said he was flying out to see his dad and sisters for the weekend. My heart sinks in my chest, even though I know he’ll be back soon. There’s a big part of me that wants him to stay right here, in my bed, forever. But he’ll be back in just a few days. I shove down the senseless feeling of being abandoned and give him a hard look instead. “You should go.”
He frowns as he stares down at me. “You don’t want to come?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to – it’s just…It’s your family, and you should be there.” I give him another nudge. “Go.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “I need my shirt back.” 
“Oh,” I say, cheeks flaming. “Right.”
My hands go to my sides as I pull the shirt over my head. It’s halfway off me when he mutters, hoarsely, “Keep the shirt.”
I pause, frowning. “What?”
He clears his throat. “I just needed an excuse to see those again.” 
My mouth drops. Is he talking about my boobs?
Quicker than light, I pull the shirt back down. Only to find him grinning. I give him a flat look. “You—”
“I’m leaving,” he chimes.
“Good,” I mutter, but I don’t really mean it.
At my bedroom door, he turns. And there it is again, that vulnerable look on his face, like he’s dying to say something to me, like it’s on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason, he just can’t. “Indie, I—”
“Go,” I say.
He clenches his jaw. Nods once. And then he’s gone.
I exhale, taking a few moments to gather my frayed ends, and then because I start to drive myself crazy with overthinking, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and give myself something to do.