Page 96 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Because your taste sucks.”

“Then you choose.”

“I’m comfortable.”

His fingers remained loosely wrapped around my forearm. My hand curled over his thigh. Moving would require him to release me.

I opened a streaming app and selected the first movie I found.

“Oh God, Doc, the shit you watch is so bad,” Cash complained.

Twenty minutes later, he was asleep against me, snoring softly. I lowered the volume but left the movie running. Explosions flashed across the room without managing to disturb him. His breathing warmed the side of my neck. Every few minutes, his thumb moved against my arm before going still again.

I should’ve woken him.

His neck would hurt in the morning. A knot had formed between my shoulder blades from sitting in the same position, but waking him meant he’d move away.

I stayed exactly where I was.

Sometime after eleven-thirty, Cash stirred. His cheek slid across my shoulder before he lifted his head and blinked at the television.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“No.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty-seven.”

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour.”

Cash looked at my shoulder, then at me. “You let me sleep on you for an hour?”

“You were comfortable.”

“You could’ve moved.”

I could have.

“I was comfortable too.”

Something softened in his expression.

“We almost missed midnight.”

Then he reached for the remote. A New Year’s Eve broadcast filled the screen, the party already loud enough to make me miss the explosions from the movie he’d turned off.

Cash glanced at the clock. “Twenty-three minutes.”

“Yes.”

“It’s past your bedtime.”

I shook my head and laughed. “I probably performed two surgeries before you got out of bed this morning.”

“I got up early, so probably one and a half,” Cash said, resettling against me. His hand found my forearm again, but this time, his fingers moved slowly through the hair there.