Page 47 of Stroked Long
I pack up the cards and shake my head. “You can’t take the couch.”
“Ruby, I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to make a girl sleep on the couch. I might be socially unaware of some things, but I know it’s not proper to make a girl sleep on the couch when there is a perfectly fine bed in the other room.”
Not liking the way he puts himself down, I say, “You’re not socially unaware. Don’t say that.”
Shrugging it off, I see that light in his eyes start to fizzle as he backs away from me. He’s retreating; it’s plain as day.He can be warm. I bet not many get to see this kind, gentle warmth, and I’m thankful I have tonight.But I don’t want it to go yet. I wanthimback.
“I’ll get that toothbrush for you.” He starts to walk away, but I quickly grab his hand and spin him around.
I want to lecture him about how amazing he is, what a kind and soulful person he is, but I know the compliments will roll off him like the rain rolling down the windows of his condo. He needs to be in a better frame of mind, a more accepting frame of mind when I compliment him. Instead, I put myself out there.
“You can’t sleep on the couch.”
“Ruby . . .”
“No.” I press my hand against his chest and search his face. My palm is against his heart, and I feel his fast heartbeat. Is he nervous because of me, or because he doesn’t like to be touched? He isn’t pulling away, and if he didn’t want me touching him, he would pull away. So I hold strong. “Look, this is going to sound really stupid, and I have absolutely no ulterior motives, but I’m in a strange place with a storm that doesn’t plan on going anywhere. Please don’t make me sleep alone in there. I promise to keep my distance. I just . . .” I pause, biting my bottom lip. “I’m scared.”
The crease in his brow unfurrows from my confession. There is agony in his eyes as he weighs his options. I can tell by the way his eyes search mine this is a tough decision for him, and I can’t figure out why. Am I so repulsive that he’s horrified about the mere idea of sharing a bed with me? Does he think I’m going to be super clingy and try to spoon him all night?
That’s embarrassing if that’s what he thinks. If only I could be privy to his innermost thoughts.
“Okay, yeah, I don’t want you to be scared. Here.” He takes my hand, grabs the candle, and takes me back to his room.
Did you see that, he grabbed my hand. MY. HAND.
“Let me get you a toothbrush and a hand towel. Do you need soap for your makeup?”
“That would be great, thank you.” For someone so closed off to people, he is one of the most considerate men I’ve ever known.
“While you get ready for bed, I’ll clean up the living room. Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” Another loud clap of thunder booms off the walls, making me shrink. I might be a baby but I can’t help it. When thunder is that loud, to the point you’re afraid your home is going to fall apart, that’s scary, I don’t care who you are.
“I’ll be quick.”
And quick he is. I finish washing my face when he appears at the bathroom door. Taking in my freshly washed face, he grins but says nothing. Instead he reaches over me, takes his toothbrush, and carefully applies the perfect amount of toothpaste. Capping the tube, he puts it back exactly where he found it, parallel with the counter. Interesting.
Wanting to give him some privacy, I dry off the wet counter, check my teeth in the mirror one more time, and leave him to his bathroom. I want to see his ritual. I want to watch his meticulous movements and his calculated placement of his possessions.
Instead I sit on the edge of the bed, not quite sure if he has a particular side preference.
The candle that was once in the bathroom is now carried to his walk-in closet where he shuts the door. I’m assuming he’s changing, and I’m kind of giddy to find out what kind of jam jams he plans on wearing.
Please let them be American flags. Please let them be American flags.
Popping out of the closet, I nearly choke on my own saliva from seeing him in nothing but a pair of Nike shorts that ride low on his hips.
Now, I really shouldn’t be so turned on by his body. Hell, I can look at it whenever I want thanks to the Internet, but there is something about being in the dark with him, in his bedroom with only a flickering candle lighting up his abs. Yup, I am in full-on lust mode.
Cringing slightly, he says, “Shit, I didn’t even think about what to wear to bed. Are you okay with this?”
I wave him off, totally light and breezy, not wanting to mess with his routine, which I know is important to him. “As long as you don’t mind me taking off these sweatpants. They’re comfy and all but they’re a little bulky for bed and this shirt is big enough to be a nightgown on me. Is that okay?”
He actually looks pained from my question but he nods.
Jeeze, it’s not like once I take my pants off dragons are going to pop out of my vagina and start biting at his ankles. Oh God, what if he’s afraid my moose knuckle is going to whack him in the middle of the night?
No, I don’t have a moose knuckle. That was just an unfortunate coincidence.
