“If you think that’s expensive,” I rasp. “Things are going to get very awkward when you see what else I’ve ordered for you.” The tease of her sweet scent has me placing a kiss on the top of her head just to get one more smell before I pull away.
“What do you mean? What have you ordered for me?”
My only answer is a smug grin. “I have more work to do. I thought I’d put in an order for dinner. Does Thai work for you?”
“Um, yeah. Wait—Tommy! You didn’t answer me,” she calls after me as I retreat to my office.
“Text me what you want to eat. My number’s already in your phone.” I can’t remember the last time I smiled so broadly. Something about surprising her makes me feel like seeing a rainbow for the first time. And she’s going to be shocked because the engagement ring I’ve just bought couldn’t be any more spectacular.
When my phone chimes with a text minutes after sitting at my desk, I’m eager to see what she says.
Danika: Thank you for the phone. I hope you know you didn’t have to.
Me: If I do something, it’s because I chose to. Remember that.
Me: Your order?
Danika: Chicken yellow curry, please
My girl likes a little spice. Good to know. And I do want to know—all of it—every little thing about her. I want to count the freckles on her nose and hear the story behind every one of her scars. I want to know what cartoons she watched as a kid and whether she prefers white wine or red or none at all. I want to make a mental dossier of her entire existence—color-coded and tabbed for easy reference. I want to eat, sleep, and breathe Danika.
Now that I think about it, maybe I should let her think she’s an inconvenience because if she knew the truth, she’d beterrified, and I wouldn’t blame her. My need for her isn’t normal. And I don’t care one little bit.
It’s been thirty minutes,and I’m still wide awake. I can’t get comfortable. I know what’s wrong and have tried to fight it off, but it’s not fucking working. Danika and I had dinner together, then watched television. Everything was perfect until it was time to go to bed. She went to her room, and my skin started to crawl with the need to keep her close.
I can’t take it a minute longer.
I fling off the covers and march across the apartment to her room. The door is shut. I try to open it quietly so as not to startle her, but it’s no use. She pops up and looks around.
“What’s going on? Tommy? Oh God. Not the handcuffs again.”
I’m not the best judge, but I’m pretty sure there’s humor in her tone.
“Not unless you want them,” I jab back before tossing back her sheet and scooping her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasps, holding tight around the back of my neck.
“Taking my wife to bed.”
“I’m not your wife, Tommy,” she scolds without any real fire.
“You will be soon enough. Now, quit arguing.”
“I’m not arguing. You’ll know if I start to argue.”
I grunt and take her to my bedroom—ourbedroom—then situate us on the bed. Her on her side. Me on mine. Finally, I can relax.
“Tommy?” Her melodic voice lingers in the dark.
“Hmm?”
“What is this?” she asks hesitantly.
“This is us trying to sleep if you’ll quit asking questions.” Am I being a dick? Probably, but I’d rather not define this thing between us because I’ll most likely scare her shitless. I’d rather take her hand and coax her down the path until she’s hopelessly lost without me.
“A week ago, you couldn’t sleep with me free in the house, and now you want me in your bed?”
“That about sums it up.”
