As it is, he's probably staring at the back of my head right now, just hoping I'll give myself away. I love my boy, but holy crap do I not want to try to carry on a conversation first thing in the morning. It was hard enough to get him to sleep tonight. He couldn't stop talking about his birthday party and everybody who was there, but most of all, he wouldn't stop talking about Jim. He asked me twice if I thought Jim was nice and if I thought he would stay. Both questions broke me. I don't have an answer to either. Instead of lying to my boy, I just kept giving him candy and random snacks we have around the house. I didn't score any points for mom of the year today, that's for sure. The kid pokes me in my back, and when I don't respond, he does it again. And again. It's a good thing I love this kid, because he's one persistent little jerk sometimes.
"What time is it?" I mumble when I realize that the kid isn't going to go back to sleep. Knowing my luck, he's thought up some kind of new theory about how the Power Rangers came to be, or some other nonsensical shit like that, and he just has to discuss it.
"Almost two." The voice is deep, much too deep for my just barely nine-year-old son. I tense up for a moment before the voice speaks again, telling me to relax. It's like a shot to my soul.
Jim.
Everything I felt earlier, from the pure ecstasy of our lovemaking to the embarrassment of being rejected so soon after, rushes forward, and I want to just bury myself in the blankets and hide. He pulls me against his body, making it impossible for me to get away. I don't fight him. Instead, I just lie there and stew. I'm still half-asleep and trying to figure out what's going on here. Ian's birthday party--that Jim threw. Really hot, sensual sex--with Jim. Saying I love you and being rejected--to and then by Jim.
Motherfucker.
And now I'm awake.
"Jim," I say slowly as my brain finally wakes up. Jim Stone is in my bed. He's spooning me. In my bed. In my apartment. My apartment that I didn't invite him into.
"Babe." It's a statement, not an answer.
"You're in my apartment. At two in the morning."
"Yeah, I know. Listen, we gotta go. I already grabbed some of your and Ian's shit."
My brain is awake now and going a million miles a minute. What the hell does he mean by that?
"Don't ask me any questions. I can't answer them, okay? But we have to go. Do you trust me?"
God help me, but I do. He might have broken my heart, but that doesn't mean I don't trust him. I'm probably an idiot. Slowly, I nod. I can't bring myself to freak out even though I probably should. Maybe freaking out is something normal women do in this situation, so maybe this makes me not normal, but I trust that Jim wouldn't drag me and my boy out of bed in the middle of the night for nothing.
Pulling myself out of the bed, I'm conscious of how I move, careful not to kick my kid. Wait, where is my kid? I'm so tired and half a step from whining, but my mom-gene kicks in, and none of that matters if I don't know where my boy is. When I put him to sleep, he was right beside me. Jim would be worried about Ian, though, wouldn't he? He wouldn't just open the door and let him walk out? I shake my head, dismissing my own crazy. He's nine, and he doesn't sleepwalk. He's fine. I hate being woken up. It's bad enough being woken up by a kid who's way too peppy for his own good every morning, but at two a.m.? No and fuck that. Clearly, my inner drama queen is on high alert when I'm woken up at inappropriate times.
"Damn you're cute," Jim says from the other side of the bed. I blink up at him as he strides toward me and cups my face in his hands. My nose scrunches up in response as I muffle a yawn. "My grouchy girl."
"Shut up," I say. My cheeks heat, and a stupid smile plants itself on my lips. There he goes sweet-talking again. I don't know what's worse--the sweet-talking or the way his eyes bore into mine when he's not sweet-talking. I can't take it. "Where's Ian?"
He nods his head toward the couch and withdraws his hands. I turn my head to find my boy sitting up on the couch, his head tipped back and mouth hanging open like he's trying to catch flies in his sleep. The tension leaves my body immediately. Jim must have moved him from the bed. Ian's always had trouble sleeping and doesn't take to waking up in unfamiliar situations, so the fact that Jim moved him and my kid's fallen right back asleep is a big deal. With a big, stupid grin on my face, I look up at Jim and just hope he knows what he means to us. But in case he doesn't, I grab hold of his leather cut, pull him to me, and press my lips to his. He tries to deepen the kiss, but I pull back and step away. He just rejected me and I'm still all over him. This isn't going to end badly. It's going to end in a fiery crash that destroys me.
"We need to get going," he says, turning away.
"Are we in danger?"
"No," he says quickly but then lets out a heavy sigh. "Remember, you said you'd trust me."