That said, I’d offered to stay with Cheyenne. Camping on her floor like we had when she was three and got sick.
She’d rolled her eyes. With way more bravado than she felt, though.
I’d seen the worry behind the cool front.
But she’d pointed to my room and made it clear she expected me to hunker down with my man.
After we’d tucked Sadie and Chili into crates side by side, Twain and Eb had happily settled in Cheyenne’s room. With the dogs, her new cell phone by her bed, and all the house alarms set, she swore she felt safe.
I’d keep my door cracked just in case.
No hanky panky tonight. And, judging by the pain etched on Arthur’s face, he wasn’t up for anything either.
“She’s down and soon to be out. She’s exhausted, Arthur. As are you.” I grabbed my sleep pants and an old T-shirt as I headed into my bathroom. I would’ve loved to give my boyfriend a striptease, but now wasn’t the time.
No. Not the time.
I had the quickest shower on record—to wash away the gross, stinky sweat of the night—dried myself off fast, donned my sleep clothes, and headed into the bedroom.
Part of me hoped Arthur might already be asleep. I’d read the questions in his eyes earlier, as I tried to keep my cool in the aftermath of Harvey. He knew. He knew I hadn’t told him everything before and he was curious. I didn’t read hurt…just curious.
He was propped against the headboard in his sleep clothes. He’d turned down the bed, and he patted the space next to him.
I stalled. “How’s the leg? Do you need another ice pack?”
He shook his head.
“Heat, maybe? Oh, I should’ve brought the heating pad in here. I can go?—”
“Brooklyn.” Quiet and sure.
I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah?”
“I’m okay. Well, this evening’s chaos aside, I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.” I felt bad saying it, but I needed to be honest with him. “Have you taken your painkillers?”
“Yes. I had some with milk and a couple of cookies while you were taking care of Cheyenne.”
I cocked my head. “You ate my cookies?” I tried for mock outrage. “The ones Cheyenne baked just for me?”
As I hoped, he smiled. “I happen to know she made them for both of us. Well, peanut butter for you and chocolate chip for me. You’ll be relieved to know I didn’t venture into your container. I won’t say I wasn’t tempted. They looked delicious.”
“They are.” Slowly, I eased onto the bed. “And you can have as many as you want.”
He took my hand. “I know.”
Our gazes met.
He smiled. Then he squeezed my hand. “We need to talk.”
We don’t need to talk. We can just kiss and cuddle and fall asleep and pretend the past four hours didn’t happen. Why can’t we do that?
Because I was a fucking adult and acting like a five-year-old wasn’t the way to impress my adult boyfriend.
Right?
Worth a shot…?
