“From where?”
“Some joint opposite the church. The other place didn’t seem all that, er, Chinese.”
“It’s not.” I laughed in spite of myself. “It’s some mad white couple who deep fry ready meals and call it chop suey. Trust me, you don’t want to eat anything from there.”
“Noted. I’m a shit cook, so it’s a rare Saturday night my kids don’t get noodles. Is the other place good?”
“Fuck yeah. Mrs Wong is the best.”
Relief eased the frown lines from Isha’s face. He set the bag on the bed and produced plastic forks from his back pocket. “You want plates?”
I gave him my best idiot scowl and patted the bed. “Sit. Eat.”
Isha had bought mushroom chow mein, kung-po prawns, and satay chicken. I briefly worried that I’d somehow had my favourite dishes tattooed on my forehead, or that we’d had a conversation I’d forgotten about, but perhaps it was simply that we were more alike than I’d realised.
I liked eating with him. The silence was warm, and companionable. His leg pressed against mine reassured me he was right there, but he didn’t talk my ear off when I was hankering to stuff my face.
The food disappeared in minutes. Isha took the rubbish away, and when he came back, and ditched his clothes to get back into bed with me, my angsting over his phone faded enough for me to forget about it.
Too full to throw myself at him again just yet, I slung my leg over his and dumped my head on his chest. It was an intimate position, but I’d run out of energy to care if it freaked him out. The sexual chemistry between us was solid, but I craved his affection. Craved his reactions when I had the balls to throw my own at him.
It should’ve scared me, but it didn’t.
I closed my eyes. For a long moment, Isha lay stock still, as if frozen, then his hand came to rest between my shoulder blades, and his lips nuzzled my hair. It was as close to kissing as we’d ever been, and I suppressed a shiver.
Time passed quickly. Isha’s heart thumped a steady beat beneath my cheek as his chest rose and fell in a lullaby. I could’ve laid there forever, hypnotised by his gentle arm around me, and his slow, even breaths, but his close proximity did other things to me. As the food coma cleared, heat returned to my blood. Isha had fucked my brains out less than an hour before, but my body cried out for another go. My dick hardened just thinking about it. I shifted to look at Isha.
But he was asleep.
Sixteen
Isha
I woke up in Jude’s bed, pressed against him from behind, arms around him, as though we’d fallen asleep together a thousand times. It was the early hours of the morning, and still pitch dark. I got up to use the bathroom and returned to find Jude hadn’t moved. He was so wonderfully asleep that I was jealous. And then I wasn’t, because despite my shock at having knocked out in another man’s bed for the first time ever, if I’d been sleeping, I’d have missed it.
I’d have missed him.
Despite a trepidation I resented, I got back into bed and slid across the sheets, reclaiming my place behind him. His back was warm and smooth. I couldn’t resist running my hands over it, and down his strong arms. My body fit perfectly against him, even down to my half-wood nestled in his crease. Was this what it felt like to be made for someone?
I was too tired to consider the question properly. Or perhaps I didn’t want to face up to the answer. Whatever. I wrapped my arms around Jude, buried my face in his hair, and drifted back to sleep.
* * *
An alarm was blasting somewhere nearby.It took a full six seconds for me to figure out it wasn’t mine, and another go around to persuade myself that the ear-splitting noise was worth disentangling myself from Jude.
Dammit.
Grumbling, I rolled away from him and swung my legs out of bed, scanning the room for the source of the sound.
I found Jude’s phone on the floor, half hidden by a discarded pillow. Shaking my head, I silenced it and turned to face him. He hadn’t stirred. Not even a flicker. “Jude.”
Nothing.
“Jude.”
Still nothing. I glanced at the time. 5:30 am. Oh well. Maybe he didn’t need to wake up yet.
I returned to bed, but as warm and comfortable as it was, I couldn’t bring myself to lie down and go back to sleep. It wasn’t my thing. Even teenager me had always been up with the sun. Adult me was pretty keen on worshipping the moon, too. I was having a hard time accepting that I’d apparently fallen asleep in Jude’s bed before the nine o’clock news last night.
