The question took the air out of my lungs because, for the briefest, most fleeting moment, I’d forgotten the two were not the same place. But before I could answer, Marshall spoke again, “You’re more than welcome to stay here, but I’m not sure I want you to be alone. So if you do, I’d like Lincoln to come over until I’m off work.”
Another rush of air out of my lungs, tangling in my throat at the impossibility of it all.
“I’d like to stay,” I said.
Marshall scratched his cheek then checked his watch. “Is Lincoln up this early?”
“He’ll answer if I call.”
“Call him then. I’m going to finish getting ready for work.”
“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled, mostly to his back as he went toward the bedroom. My phone was somewhere in my bag, which I found by the front door where I’d left it. It had enough of a charge on it, and Lincoln answered on the fourth ring.
“M’hello?”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Of course.” He yawned. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, but…I want to stay here today, and he has to go to work. Can you come over?”
Lincoln groaned, and I was so familiar with him, I knew it was the sound he made when he stretched first thing in the morning.
“Am I allowed?”
“He’s the one who told me to call.”
“Yeah,” Lincoln answered. Another yawn. “Can I shower there? Is there coffee?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Kay. Can I stay in pajamas?” he asked.
“You don’t wear pajamas.”
Lincoln chuckled. “Good point. I still have his address from your first date, so I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up, and I took my phone into the bedroom in search of Marshall’s charge cord. I found it and him, standing in the en suite with his fingers in his hair. When it was damp, the gray around his temples was less pronounced, but he was no less sexy.
“Everything settled?” he asked.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. “He’s on his way.”
Lincoln arrived in record time, knocking on the door just as Marshall finished tying his shoes. We’d moved from the bedroom into the living room, and he pointed at the couch, indicating I should stay put while he stood up to let Lincoln in. I craned my neck to watch their interaction.
“You must be Lincoln,” Marshall greeted when he opened the door.
I crawled up onto my knees but didn’t have a clear view of the door.
“And you’re Marshall,” Lincoln said back, still sounding tired but somehow also sassy.
“Thank you for coming over.”
There were footsteps in the entryway, the door closed, then both of them were in my sight line. Lincoln smirked at me, seated on the couch in a too-big pair of sweatpants and not much else. I didn’t have to explain. I didn’t have to say a word. Lincoln took one look at me and climbed onto the couch beside me, wrapping me up his arms and pressing a sloppy kiss against my temple.
“Where’s the remote?” he asked Marshall. “I’ve got it from here.”
Marshall huffed out a laugh, pulling open a hidden drawer in the side table and passing Lincoln the remote.
