“He issohot.”
I could swear jealousy rolls off Jamie in waves. He grunts in response.
An arch smile hooks on my face. I can’t resist messing with him.
“He’s exactly my type. Dark hair.”
Jamie can only grunt in reply again. This time it’s a gruffer sound, and it’s accompanied by a flare of his nostrils.
I bite my bottom lip to stifle a laugh.
“Jamie, you can’t be jealous of a TV character from thirty years ago.”
“Who’s jealous?” he asks. But the raspy, displeased sound in his voice betrays him.
“You,” I accuse.
He glances at me, and when he sees the impish grin on my face, his sour expression melts away.
“This is my reward for risking my life to bring you dinner. You teasing me.”
I pat his knee. “You’ll get over it.”
We watch a couple more episodes, exchanging commentary now and then. Eventually, I sense Jamie’s broad frame slackening against the cushions. His eyes are closed, his breathing rhythmic and peaceful, and he’s not responding to my low whispers of his name.
Watching him sleep sends a strangely peaceful feeling over me. “At least one of us will get a good night’s rest,” I say.
Despite my sarcastic comment, my own eyelids soon feel heavy. A calm, languid feeling permeates through me, deep into my bones. I slouch down, telling myself I’m just relaxing and resting my eyes for a minute.
My stomach doesn’t feel heavy anymore, just full and satisfied. Warmth radiates from Jamie’s muscle-wrapped body, curling around me. The steady rhythm of his breathing becomes hypnotic. There’s something so comforting and relaxing about the way he fills the space next to me.
For the first time in I couldn’t even say how long, without a struggle, effortlessly, I sink into sleep.
16
JAMIE
The most comforting weight I’ve ever felt is resting against me as I stir awake.
My brain feels fuzzy with endorphins. A satisfied feeling thrums all over my body, radiating from something warm that’s pressing against my entire left side.
Whatever I’m on doesn’t feel like a bed. A couch? Did I fall asleep in the living room last night?
Whatever. I don’t care. This feels too good to care. The only thing I care about, as my mind establishes awareness, is that eventually I’ll have to get up. I’ll have to move from this spot. And every cell in my body is demanding that I stay exactly where I am, because this feeling? It’s bliss.
Curiosity starts to pique as the neurons in my brain switch on. Whatcouldpossibly feel this good?
My eyelids part. For an instant, confusion scatters through me. I don’t recognize anything. Where am I?
Then I remember.
I must have fallen asleep on Carmen’s couch.
I spent the night in her apartment.
The thought directs my attention to the stiff length between my legs. My usual morning wood is super-charged by the awareness of where I am. A white-hot heat pulses at the base of my hardness. The borderline painful ache pulls me further awake.
The warm weight against me doesn’t feel any less good, though.
