But with his words, his tone, the look on his face, all I had in me was to nod.
He whispered, “Good.”
Thankfully, after that, he stopped talking.
I didn’t start.
So, he asked, “You done?”
I was. Totally depleted.
I had no more.
He sensed it, and being all Gabe could be, which we all could see was a lot, he didn’t make me admit it.
He asked, “Wanna go to bed or watch more TV?”
“I had an active day, and I have a briefing with the Angels at eleven tomorrow about how we’re going to help Mr. Shithead, so probably should hit the sack.”
He looked to the ceiling like a cloud was going to form, swirl open and God Himself was going to peer down and urge, “Patience, my son.”
Now you’re understanding how I feel, Dreamer said.
I’m not liking where this is going, Logic said.
Gabe looked at me.
“Okay, let’s go to bed,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied.
I mean…
What else could I do?
Gabe rounded the coffee table and held his hand out to me.
Without a second’s hesitation, I walked to him and took it.
The instant I did, he sighed, and it wasn’t with relief, but harassed.
Even if I was vexing him with my stubborn and possibly irrational protective streak (Feeling protective isn’t irrational! Logic screeched), that I consistently contradicted my words with my actions, he also didn’t hesitate.
Hand in hand, we walked down the hall in my apartment to get ready for bed.
NINE
GROWTH
I woke when a hand skated down my back and put pressure on.
I accepted its cue, uncurled and fit my soft body to Gabe’s hard one beside me in bed.
He gathered my hair off my shoulder and neck so he could bury his face there.
That felt nice.
His other hand swept down over my ass, then up, taking my short nightie with it (a new one: lavender with teeny blue and peach flowers printed on it and lace at the hem and bodice).
