“What’s this?” I shook the box.
Hannah darted off the bed and snatched the box. I tightened my hold on the corner, mostly to keep her close. We played tug-of-war for a moment, me grinning and Hannah exasperated, yanking at the box with all her might.
“You’re feisty tonight.” I chuckled.
I twisted the box out of her grip and lifted it, my arm stretched toward the ceiling. I raised a brow. She didn’t even try to reach for it. Too bad … would have been cute.
“It’s a gift. But I don’t want you to have it yet. Give it to me.”
“Pout prettily and I will.” I smiled.
“Matt…” Her voice hardened with warning.
“Let me hold you, then, and I won’t ask about it. And I’ll give it back.”
She glared up at me, but she nodded. I tossed the box onto our bed. Something inside shifted. I dropped my sleeping bag and pulled her into my arms.
She’d changed into tiny, soft shorts and a cami. A burst of honeysuckle scent rose from her hair. I nuzzled my nose into her curls and sighed, my hands roaming.
“Don’t make me sleep in the TV room. I’m lonely for you…” I wedged her shorts between her legs and cupped her ass. She trembled and held my hip with one hand.
If only we could talk, I could fix things. Hannah didn’t want my children. That was a problem. I could fix it. And she was pissed about Last Light. I could fix that, too.
“Hannah—”
“Go,” she said.
*
I woke to the sound of the condo door closing.
“Bird,” I mumbled. I tried to sit up and flopped over, stuck in my mummy bag. “Ah, for fuck’s sake.”
My shoulders ached. My back was stiff.
I wriggled out of the sleeping bag and prowled into the kitchen.
Somehow, Hannah had slipped off to work without waking me. She must have skipped breakfast. I frowned and contemplated the door.
Were we having a serious fight?
She’d upset me last night; I’d upset her. Then I’d barged into the bedroom for makeup sex (or conversation, at least) and she shut me down … again.
When did we last fuck, anyway?
I wrote a text—I need sex—and deleted it. Stupid. “Grow the fuck up,” I grumbled. Still, some fearful little voice piped up in my brain, warning me that marriage was more of this—a creeping siege, a war of attrition. Never before had Hannah locked me out of our bedroom. Now, with a ring on her finger, she’d ordered me out of our bed twice. And I’d rolled over like a well-trained dog. What next?
Tomorrow I could wake up and be that guy who only gets a blow job on his birthday.
I shuddered.
My morning coffee tasted bland. I skipped my run and searched the condo for a note from Hannah, but I found nothing. She’d re-hid the present and made our bed.
I retreated to the office and checked my e-mail.
My mood lifted when I saw a new e-mail from Hannah.
Subject: Camping in the TV room
Sender: Hannah Catalano
Date: Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Time: 6:50 AM
Sweet Matt,
I’m sorry I sent you out of the bedroom last night. I needed alone time … to think. Exhibitionism? I have so many questions. I want to know more. I’m not scared; I’m curious. Do you really have a journal?
I’m also sorry I flew off the handle about Last Light. You need to understand that you put me in a terrible position by sending the novel to Pam without warning me. (Yes, I would be amenable to a meeting with her. I’ll set it up.) Chapter 3 is attached. I’d accuse you of hijacking my story, but it’s always been our story, hasn’t it? Let’s make it good. You’re It, Matt.
Love,
The Bossy Bird
P.S. Ready to start house-shopping when you are.
P.P.S. Snuck out of the bedroom to kiss you good night. You were sound asleep.
Attachments (2): UNTITLED.doc
TIGER.JPG
I opened the attached image.
It was a picture of me asleep on the floor of the TV room, my body halfway outside the sleeping bag. My bare arms and back sprawled over the area rug. Tiger? I replied to the e-mail before reading her chapter.
Subject: Roar