He sounded short and impatient, something I’d never heardfrom Mo.
“You’ve never had a bad dream,” I pointed out.“And besides,in case you missed it, I wouldn’t mind.”
He lifted a long arm so he could rub his face with his hand.
I bent my neck and put my mouth to his skin.
“Really, babe, love you, but I don’t want to associate yourmouth on me after dreams like that,” he announced.
But I arrested.
Really, babe, love you.
Love you.
He loved me.
Loved me.
His other hand came to the small of my back and drifted upuntil his fingers were in my hair.
“Go back to sleep.I’mgonnago tothe gym,” he muttered.
“Okay,” I whispered, though no way in hell I was going to beable to go back to sleep.
He pulled me further up his chest, gave me a closed-mouthkiss and rolled me to the bed.
He threw back the covers and got out but tossed them over meand pulled them high up my shoulder before he walked to the bathroom.
He didn’t turn on the light until the door was mostlyclosed.
Mo was a man who didn’t turn the light on until the door wasmostly closed when the room he left was dark and his woman was in bed in thatroom.
He was a man who pulled the covers up high to my shoulder.
Mo was a man who loved me.
Loved me.
I didn’t feign sleep and Mo knew I didn’t after he left thebathroom, went to the closet, put on workout clothes and came right to the bedto smooth my hair back before touching his lips to my temple.
“We’ll go out and get breakfast when I come back,” hemurmured and gave my hair a soft tug.“Try to get some more sleep.”
And then he was gone.
I lay in bed, unable to do what he asked (get more sleep),making plans of reading websites and finding books and bucking up so next timethis happened, I’d have some tools to deal with it that could help Mo.
I was feeling this was a decent plan, but not feeling muchbetter (except about the part that he loved me,loved me, and saidit), when I heard noises coming from the kitchen.
You couldn’t hear much in Mo’s place, even if Mo and Mag’srooms were both right off the open-plan living space, just on opposite ends ofthe condo.
Though if it was early, silent, you were jazzed and notentirely in a good way and had already made your plan about how you were goingto help your boyfriend with his PTSD so your mind wasn’t jammed up, you couldhear.
I got up, dashed to the walk-in, tore off my nightie, threwon some sleep shorts, a bralette and acami, dartedto the bathroom to take care of business, wash my hands, slap water on my faceand brush my teeth.
Then I walked out.
Two Sundays ago, in the morning, Mo and I had beenconfronted with something Mo warned me later I’d see a lot of at his place: oneof Mag’s girls.A pretty brunette who spent the time Mag allowed her beforegetting her ass out of the condo to take her home looking at him like she waswondering if she should tranquilize him so she could successfully put a balland chain on his ankle.
