“You let on you knew he was playin’ you?” he asked.
“No. I told him I’d give him my number and if he ever had anything he needed you to know, he could tell me and I’d let you know.”
“Threw yourself under the bus,” he muttered.
“I didn’t think he was playing me, Captain,” I replied. “But even if I did, I’d do it again.”
He didn’t speak but he also didn’t let go of my wrist. Then he lifted it, turned it inwards and kissed the inside. His beard tickled the sensitive skin there. The gesture and how he did it touched a sensitive part of me you couldn’t see because it was deep on the inside.
He let my wrist go and said softly, “Meet you in bed, baby.”
“Okay,” I whispered and left him to finish his beer.
Chapter Twenty
Rollin’ in Her Grave
The next morning, Tate and I were out on the deck drinking coffee.
My chair was close beside his, his legs were up on the railing and he’d reached down and wrapped an arm around the backs of my knees and pulled my legs up on his. As we sat, silent and sipping our coffee bathed in the morning sun, my legs naturally and comfortably tangled with his.
As the time slid by I was thinking I could start every day for the rest of my life like this. I didn’t know what Tate was thinking but I hoped it was much the same.
I heard the sliding glass door open and I craned my neck back to look beyond Tate to the door.
Jonas was closing the door and then he turned toward us. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting knit shorts and a t-shirt, both wrinkled with sleep. His hair was adorably tousled. And, I was alarmed to note, he was stumbling somewhat drunkenly down the deck toward us.
I felt my body tense, wondering if he was sick or something when Tate moved. I looked to him to see he’d stretched an arm toward his boy. Then I watched as Jonas walked straight into it, not stopping at Tate, instead colliding sleepily with him and then leaning into his side as Tate curled his arm around his son.
My heart turned over yet again.
Tate and Jonas stayed this way for several long minutes without speaking.
Finally, Tate asked quietly, “You sleep okay, Bub?”
Jonas nodded, staring blankly into the trees, his body still heavy against his father.
“Bed all right?” Tate asked.
“Like it better than home,” Jonas mumbled. “Bigger.”
Jonas’s bed downstairs was a double. It was covered in light gray sheets and a forest green comforter both of which were far newer and better quality than Tate’s had been before I replaced them. There was a lamp on the nightstand, its base a football, its shade covered with Philadelphia Eagles emblems. The walls had posters of Eagles players on them. The dresser had t-shirts, shorts and underwear in it, the closet had jackets and jeans on hangers, some shoes on the floor. There was a TV with some video game player attached to it, a mess of controls and cords. There was a boom box with CDs scattered around. There was boy stuff laying here and there, on the nightstand, dresser, on top of the TV.
When I’d discovered and cleaned it, the bed was unmade, some clothes on the floor. I’d noticed that Jonas’s room wasn’t where he slept when he was here. He had clothes, he had things. It wasn’t his room at Tate’s house. It was his room in his home.
“You want Laurie to make you breakfast?” Tate asked.
Jonas’s eyes didn’t move from the trees when he muttered, “Unh-hunh.”
I leaned across Tate. “What do you want, baby?” I asked. “French toast? Pancakes? Eggs –?”
“Eggs,” Jonas said.
“Scrambled? Fried? Poached?” I went on.
“Fried,” Jonas answered.
“Gotcha,” I said softly, untangled my legs from Tate’s and stood. He looked up at me when I did. “You want a warm up?” I asked, tipping my head to his mug.
“Yeah, honey,” he answered.
I took his mug and looked into his beautiful eyes. That was when the spirit moved me and I didn’t know if it was right but I also didn’t care. A biker babe would act when the spirit moved her so I did.
I leaned down and touched my mouth to Tate’s. When I did, his hand came up and curled at my upper hip, his fingers pressing in firmly.
I lifted my head and saw his face soft and warm. Then I looked at Jonas to see he was not looking at the trees anymore, he was watching me with his father. His face was still sleepy but I knew he’d seen the kiss and he’d seen his father’s face after.
The spirit moved me again and I leaned into Jonas and touched my lips to his forehead, pulled slightly away and looked into his beautiful eyes.
“Eggs,” I whispered, straightened, skirted Tate’s chair and walked away.
*
“Do it again!” Jonas shouted.
I lounged in the lounge chair watching father and son playing in Ned and Betty’s pool.