“Don’t worry about it,” Tate muttered.
“I’ll run down and get another room, try to get it on the same floor or something so they won’t know and I’ll sleep there.”
“It’s all good, Ace,” Tate said. He’d sat in a chair and was pulling off his boots.
“There’s only one bed,” I informed him of a fact he knew.
“It’s a big bed,” he replied.
“Tate –” I started and his head came up.
“Babe, it’s all good. Quit yappin’.”
“Okay,” I whispered and then just stood there not knowing what to do.
Tate knew what to do. He went to the bed, yanked the pillows out from under the coverlet and stacked them on one side. Then he emptied his pockets, lay on the covers, back to the pillows, grabbed the remote and switched on the TV.
I stepped further into the room.
“That was nice of you,” I said to him.
“What?” he asked the TV.
“To pretend you were my boyfriend in front of Brad,” I replied.
“Your ex is an asshole, babe.” He was still talking to the TV.
He was right about that.
So I said, “It was also nice for you to pretend in front of my family at dinner.”
“Your family’s the shit, Ace.” He was still watching TV.
He was right about that too.
“Mm,” I mumbled and looked at the TV.
It didn’t take long for the images on the screen mesmerize me. This was because I was drained, emotionally and physically. Travelling wore me out. Brad wore me out. And I was terrified the last time I’d communicate with my Dad was through an e-mail.
“Babe,” Tate called.
“Mm?” I asked, eyes glued to the screen.
“Laurie, take your shoes off and lie down.”
I didn’t move.
“Lauren,” Tate called.
I stared at the screen.
“Fuck me,” Tate muttered, I heard a zip then my body was moving.
My heard jerked and I looked up at Tate as he pushed me into the bathroom.
“What?”
“Change and come to bed before you collapse on your feet,” he ordered and shoved some material in my hand.
I looked at the material. “This isn’t mine.”
“It’s mine. Not gonna waste time sortin’ through your shit.”
“But –”
“Put it on, Ace.”
“But –”
He put a hand to my belly, shoved me fully into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and demanded, “Put it on.” Then he closed the door.
Without any fight left in me (at all) I put it on then I shuffled out wearing his huge, navy blue t-shirt. I collapsed on the covers on the bed and I did this on a diagonal.
Tate was right, the bed was huge. I was diagonal, he was in the bed and we weren’t close to touching.
That was until his hands came to my armpits and he hauled me across the bed until my head was on his belly.
I started to lift up. “Tate –”
He pushed me back down. “Relax, watch TV.”
“But Tate, this is –”
He cut me off. “I’m usin’ all the pillows.”
I twisted my head to look at him. “Tate!”
His fingers slid in my hair and sifted through. “Jesus, you’re wound up tight. Just fuckin’ relax.”
I couldn’t not relax with his fingers sifting through my hair like that.
I sighed deeply, trying to sound annoyed. Then I twisted my head back and rested it on his stomach.
Tate kept sifting his fingers through my hair.
I rested my hand on his stomach just below my face, part of it tucked under my cheek.
I looked down the long length of his legs, passed his bare feet crossed at the ankles and Tate and I watched TV.
Tate kept sifting his fingers through my hair.
I fell asleep.
*
But fuck Laurie, it’s good to be home.
The words hit my brain, my eyes opened and I saw the room was dark.
There was a warm body pressed in behind me, its arm around me and it wasn’t Wood’s.
I was in a hotel room in Indianapolis with Tate.
I shut my eyes tight.
So much for the big bed. We were only using about a quarter of it.
I knew with the way I was awake that I wasn’t going to get back to sleep. So, as carefully as I could, I slipped out from under Tate’s arm and out of the bed. I went to my bag, picked it up as silently as I could and took it to the bathroom. I didn’t turn on the light until the door was closed. Then I opened my bag, rummaged through it, found my stuff and belatedly washed the makeup off my face, moisturized then brushed my teeth. Then I shoved my bag under the sink, turned out the light and carefully made my way to the chair by the window.
If I curled up and eventually fell asleep there, I’d be okay and I wouldn’t wake Tate.
So I curled up and looked out at the lights from our window thankful Tate didn’t close the curtains and I tried to clear my mind and find tired.
“Ace?” Tate called.
Darn.
“I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” I whispered.
“Come back to bed,” he ordered.
“No, Captain, I can’t sleep. I’m okay, this happens a lot. Just ignore me.”