“We’re married.”
“But we made rules. We’re … us.”
“Explain why that’s a bad thing.”
I huff, but I can’t. Instead, I suggest, “How about we sleep at opposite ends?”
“First of all, this sofa is more of a glorified love seatwith a lot of outsized confidence. Secondly, you’re willing to sleep next to my feet?”
He’s wearing dark blue socks with white dots.
I don’t detect any foul odors. “What’s the big deal?”
“Have you seen them? Gnarly hockey skate toes.”
When he puts it that way, the corners of my lips lower. “Let’s not talk about your feet.”
“So we’ll discuss our sleeping arrangements.”
I’m backed into a corner … of the symbolic sort. If I cuddle up with Fletch, I might like it. If I don’t, his oversized ego, much like the sofa, will speculate and assume it’s because he makes me warm all over, inside and out.
Not exactly false.
Wearing his playful, lopsided grin, he says, “You. Here. Now, missus.”
I narrow my eyes with defiance. “Is that an order?”
“My oh my, are you stubborn. Okay, if this were a scene in one of your books, what would happen? Let’s see, there’s a woman in her wagon train and it goes off track?—”
“They weren’t actually trains like we have today?—”
Undeterred, he says, “And a kindly gentleman took her into his care, but night fell and they had to take shelter in a one-room cabin …”
I lean in, listening intently.
Lips rippling with a smirk, he asks, “How would it work?”
“First of all, she’d be packing a revolver in her garter belt, so?—”
His chin dimples as he grins. “Are you wearing one of those?”
“What? No, I have jeans on.”
Lip quirking, he asks, “Okay, then what?”
With a roll of my eyes, I relent. At this rate, we’ll be telling stories and arguing for hours instead of sleeping. I’ve pulledsome all-nighters and paid for it the next day, so there’s no sense in prolonging the inevitable.
Sighing, I start, “Okay, so Suzanne, the heroine, in this work offiction?—”
“With her gun and her garter belt,” he says, voice rough.
“She would, well, she’d lie down beside the kindly gentleman for warmth only. There would be no funny business.”
“None,” he repeats.
I edge closer, biting the inside of my lip.
“Let’s call him Logan—it’s a good, strong name.”
