“Time for bed, baby,” he whispered and her eyes came to his.
He watched her blink, look around the room and he started to curl up, his arm around her back tensing to take her with him when she pressed into him and her gaze came back to his. Then he settled back when she moved her body so it was mostly on his, only partly in the couch and she crossed her arms on his chest and put her chin on her hands. He’d pulled the clip out of her hair hours ago so it was down, falling around her shoulders and on his chest.
Now she was studying him, sleep still in her eyes, something he couldn’t read with it.
“You know,” she started softly, “I promised I’d live it real.”
“Yeah?” Layne asked when she said no more.
“Well, I’m thinking about going back on that promise,” she told him and his arm around her squeezed.
“Roc –”
One side of her mouth she couldn’t control twitched up and she said, “Layne, if this is your real, I think we should live it fake for Sunday. I’ll wear an apron and make a pot roast and you can put on loafers and we can pretend to be Ozzie and Harriet without seeing disgusting pornographic pictures starring Stew ‘Ick’ Baranski, shaking anyone down, setting up safe houses for victims of domestic violence or sending teenaged kids on undercover assignments at Church Youth Groups.”
He used his arm around her to pull her up his chest, her chin came off her hands, her face came level with his and he gathered her hair in his other hand as he fought back a smile and told her, “Don’t own loafers, sweetcheeks.”
“We’ll go to the mall,” she offered. “I don’t own an apron either, we’ll pick one of those up too.”
“Not a big fan of shopping,” he informed her.
“That’s okay, you can swing by and get me a coffee. I’ll do all the grunt work.”
He used her hair to bring her mouth to his and he kissed her lightly. He did it lightly because she put pressure on his hand and pulled back a little and he watched her eyes move over his face then her hand came up and he felt her fingers at his jaw. She watched as they glided feather light along his jaw, his lips and then over his cheekbone before her fingers slid into his hair at the side of his head, curling around the back and her eyes came back to his.
“I know about you,” she whispered.
“What do you know?” he whispered back.
“You help people,” she was still whispering.
“Rocky –”
She interrupted him. “I know about Kim Kempler.”
“Roc –”
“And I know about Winona Jakobi.”
“Baby –”
“Mostly women, right Layne?” she asked softly and he felt his body get tight.
“It isn’t –”
“Women with kids but on their own,” she cut him off. “Women like your Mom who struggle going it alone.”
“Ma did all right,” Layne reminded her.
“Yeah, because her son got a paper route the minute he could and got a job the minute he could get that. Couldn’t play football, even though you were good, as good as Alec Colton, if not better, because you had to quit when you were fifteen and work after school to help out at home.”
Layne tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t have amnesia, sweetcheeks.”
Rocky didn’t feel like lightening the mood. Her eyes had grown intense and her hand moved out of his hair so she could run the backs of her knuckles against his jaw. She flattened her hand on his cheek and her eyes held his.
“What am I going to do with you, Tanner Layne?” she whispered.
“If you’re open to suggestions, I got a few,” Layne whispered back.
“Do you want real?” she asked suddenly and he didn’t understand the question.
Still, he answered, “Yeah, I want real.”
“How real?” she asked quickly back.
“Lay it on me, Rocky,” Layne invited.
“I didn’t love him,” she returned and his body got tight under hers again. “I talked myself into thinking I loved him, but I didn’t. I liked him. I admired him. He’s brilliant at what he does, he’s passionate about it. I wanted to love him, I tried, but I never did.”
“What I’m hearin’, Roc, he wasn’t an easy man to love,” Layne replied.
“He treated me like shit,” Rocky announced and his arm automatically squeezed her as his hand holding her hair balled into a fist. “That’s why I couldn’t love him, I guess. Because he treated me like shit. For ten years. Even before we were married. And I took that, Layne. I took ten years of it. I took it.”
“You goin’ somewhere with this?” he asked.
“Do you think we’re going somewhere?” she asked back.
“We are goin’ somewhere,” he returned.
She nodded. “Then you need to know what kind of woman I’ve become.”
Layne stared at her a second and he fought it, he really did, but he couldn’t help it and he burst out laughing.
“Layne!” she snapped after he’d been laughing awhile and he rolled so she was on her back in the couch and he was mostly on top of her. When he got her in that position and kept laughing, she repeated, “Layne!”
“Give me a minute, sweetcheeks, that was fuckin’ funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she hissed.
“Well you were,” he said through waning laughter.
She glared at him then announced, “He’s bad in bed.” Layne burst out laughing again and Rocky slapped his arm. “Stop laughing, that’s not funny!”
“No, baby, you’re right, it isn’t, for you, for me, I find it hilarious,” Layne returned.
“I put up with that too,” she declared stubbornly then went back on it. “Well, I did then I didn’t so I guess it’s no surprise he went looking elsewhere because… well…”
Layne’s body was shaking and his side hurt so he said, “Please, Roc, you’re killin’ me.”
She fell silent, Layne got control of his hilarity and when he did he saw she was staring at him, serious as a heart attack.