“You were sad,” he whispered into my bedroom’s night.
“I was lonely.”
“Where’s Liam?”
“On a date.”
“Gone for the night?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not to me,” he said, but, even in a low bed voice, his intonation reminded me that I was the one leery of taking our relationship public, and that Liam would talk.
At that moment, I didn’t care.
Several moments later, though, I said, “It should. Matter to you. I’m bad luck.”
He paused, sighed. “If you’re talking about the accident—”
“No. Now. I mess things up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do. Like with Nina. I didn’t handle that well. And Chris? He’s fragile right now. I was too hard on him.”
He gave me a sharp squeeze. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
But I wasn’t. “I’m not sure I helped. I said way too much.” That, even before my confession, which Edward didn’t know about, unless Chris had blurted it out to his mother as soon as I left. “What happened with Grace?”
“She was okay.”
“Did she stay with Chris?”
“I made her.” There was a jolt on the bed, a dip, and Edward bolted up. “What the hell isthat?” he asked.
“One of my cats.” Needing to stay connected, I put a reassuring hand on his lower back, which was the part of him I could most easily reach. “They’re not used to anyone else in my bed.”
He exhaled resignedly. “Do they always sleep with you?”
“Apparently not when someone else does.”
He lay back down, though it was a minute before his heartbeat returned to its pre-cat calm.
So low that it was almost to myself, I whispered, “I love my cats.”
He was silent. Then, “Is that a warning?”
“Just saying.” I reconsidered it. Yes, a warning. “I like them here.”
“Where’s your dog?”
“I love him, too.”
“But where is he?”
“Probably asleep on Liam’s bed. He likes lying in piles of clothes.”
“Well, something else is here,” he said, lying very still now. “Do you use a vibrator?”
