Fly with Me: a novel by Andie Burke

chapter 10

Golden light tinted the room when Olive woke. She was still in almost the same position she’d been in when she’d fallen asleep, near the edge of the bed on her back. The most important difference in her situation was that a long, soft arm reached across her chest. Every inhale smelled of lilacs and vanilla, and a foot twitched between her own.

It was heavenly.

She’d never woken in someone’s arms before. It amazed her that she’d been able to sleep at all. Yet if she’d closed her eyes again, she could stay like this for an eternity. It felt—well, it felt like something more than she expected but also less. It felt comfortable. Like home. Not awkward.

A few of Olive’s sore muscles tingled and complained. She shifted slightly as she began to wake up enough to engage in her normal pattern of overthinking. Stella woke up all at once. She leaped off Olive as if she’d been injected with some kind of panic, anti-snuggle amphetamine.

“I’m so so sorry,” Stella stammered. “I’m a sleep cuddler.”

Unable to stop herself, Olive burst out laughing. Being a sleep cuddler was pretty much the most on-brand Stella thing ever. Even in sleep, she went the extra mile and overachieved.

“I just … I always get cold, and I search for a heat source.”

“A heat source?” Olive suppressed a smile.

“Yeah … my roommates in college used to say that I’d spoon an alligator if it ended up in my bed.”

“But aren’t alligators cold-blooded?”

“You know, I pointed out that flaw in their logic, too. They said it didn’t matter.” She sounded ruffled. Anxious and jittery. It was cute, and Olive was torn between teasing her and giving her an out.

“I didn’t mind, Stella. Really. I slept amazing. I was … I- have-literally-no-idea-what-time-it-is-right-now type unconscious.”

Stella flipped on a light, both women groaning at the searing pain against their sleep-addled irises. “Oh gosh. It’s five thirty.”

“We slept six hours?” As if in open rebellion, Olive’s stomach made a sound less like a rumble and more like a Jurassic Park–level roar.

Stella was at the mirror, finger-combing her hair and attempting to smooth creases out of her blouse. Her hair was wavy and wild, scattered with flyaways and pillow frizz. Still gorgeous. Pink indentations ran down one of her cheeks.

Olive stood beside Stella and raised a finger to the circular marks. “You have—I think that’s from my buttons.” The buttons down the center of Olive’s romper. At some point Stella’s head had rested directly between Olive’s tits. And she’d slept through it. Jesus fucking Christ.

Cheeks flushing, Stella covered the indentations with her hands.

“I think you’re dehydrated.” Olive went to get her a bottle of water from the stocked fridge.

Stella guzzled the water, and for the first time since they met, she seemed shockingly incapable of speech. She didn’t say another word until she’d drank the entire thing. The food on the table was soggy and glacial, but Olive picked at it anyway out of desperation.

“You know what I really want right now?” Olive asked.

Stella tilted her head. “What?”

“Fried chicken and waffles.”

Stella snickered. “That’s a super specific craving.”

Olive went to her bag, torn about what she wanted to do and whether it would be weird. Jake would tell her to go for it. She held up a box that held two park entry bands. He’d picked the colors when he’d surprised her with the trip. Again, telling her the only way she’d get it was if she trained for the race with him. Asshole. Lovable asshole.