“I caught my coworkers gossiping about it. They think you have to be ugly to be with me. Or a gigolo and I pay for your company.”
“That doesn’t sound right, sweetheart. They shouldn’t be saying those things.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”
“Did you know,” I cut him off, “that you’re exactly like a wombat?”
“A wombat?”
“Yeah, you’re like, so cuddly. And you can be adorable at times. And you come from Australia too.”
“Those three very valid points make meexactlylike a wombat, yes.”
I can hear a smile in his voice, and I wonder if he’s making fun of me. But I’m already half asleep, lulled by his warmth and deep breaths. “Jake?”
“Hmm?”
“I really like you.”
His arm around me tightens, holding me closer. “I really like you too, red.”
Shortly after that, I sense myself drifting into slumber, a contented smile bending my lips. This, as it turns out, might be even nicer than sex.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jake
Hammered Gen is a snorer. I don’t mind it though, because the small raspy sounds that rhythmically come out of her are adorable compared to Mulligrubs’s. There’s also much less drool going on—albeit there is some.
I woke up nearly an hour ago with her all snuggled up against me, her hair a wild mess. It’s the first time I’ve seen it so wavy, so I reckon she usually does something to have the smooth length I normally see her with. I’ve been waiting for her to wake up, but nature’s calling, so I have to get out of bed.
Careful not to stir her, I maneuver my way out of her sleepy embrace, giving her red hair a gentle caress when she lets out a grunty protest. After a trip to the loo, I fight the urge to return to bed with her. I need to feed Mulli, have a coffee, and send a couple of emails.
As soon as she sees I’m up, Mulligrubs stands from her round mattress and comes to greet me enthusiastically. “Hey, Grubsy girl,” I whisper, squatting to take her big smiling head between my hands to scratch her the way she loves. She then follows me to the kitchen and sits by her empty bowl. Today’s Sunday, and she knows it means a special meal. The pet catering service ensures she has a nice treat in every weekly delivery, as well as a new chew toy. That one though, she’ll get when Gen is awake.
Once Mulls is fed, I take her to the roof so she can do her business—I’m too lazy to do a proper walk, and can’t even be bothered to put a shirt on. When that’s over, we return to the flat, and I head to the bedroom with my iPad and a steaming cup of dark brew. I settle down on the lush leather armchair that faces the bed and set the cup on the vintage hardwood flooring. Yes, I have to work, but I can do it with a view. And what a sight she is, wrapped in my sheets, wearing my T-shirt, her plump lips pursed together by her cheek pressed onto the pillow, her face a veil of comfort and serenity. As soon as she wakes up, she’ll have to handle a nasty hangover, so I’ll let her enjoy this state of oblivion for as long as possible.
She’s still out by the time the emails are sent and I’m done with my coffee. Mulli is lying by my chair, already back to sleep. I’m unsure what compels me, but I unlatch the stylus and open Procreate. My first two attempts at capturing Gen’s likeness are a failure, even though an untrained eye might find them excellent. It’s not quite her, something is missing. She switches position in her sleep while I’m halfway through the third one, so I also dismiss it.
For the fourth try, I silently bring the chair closer, careful not to wake her. Then, I take a moment to observe her before drawing even a single line. Her colors are exquisite, as if autumn manifested an entire human being. Her hair is flamboyant, her eyebrows a darker shade of it, and her skin a pale but warm tint. The golden specks of her freckles make her radiant, and the pink of her parted lips adds to how irresistible she is. Her position is one of contentment, with a hand over her stomach while the other is thrown over the pillow next to her. I wish I hadn’t taken out the T-shirt for her because with the duvet low like this, her perky breasts would be exposed to my eyes. I’d much rather see their rosy tips than the AC/DC logo.
Well, maybe one day she’ll let me draw her in the nude. I really hope she does.
This time, I’m much, much better at this, my gestures more certain. My eyes travel between her and the tablet, the stylus dancing over its smooth surface to capture this moment. I’m just done cleaning up the sketch when I notice the first symptoms of her awakening. The delicate arches of her eyebrows, which were in such a relaxed state moments ago, are now bent in a manner that portrays some amount of discomfort. Then, the hand on her pillow twitches before I’m done setting up my color palette.
The instant her eyes flutter open, I put the stylus back in its place and turn off the screen. She’d feel weird if she knew I was drawing her, wouldn’t she?
I notice the confusion on her features as she takes in her surroundings, unmoving, and then she turns to seek me on the other side of the bed. When she doesn’t find me there, she rises to her elbows to look around the room.
When her blue gaze finds me, I smile. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she mumbles, her voice throaty. “Were you watching me sleep?”
Yes, she’d definitely freak out if she knew about the drawings. “I was working—sending out emails,” I explain, showing her the iPad. She falls back into the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “There’s water on your nightstand. And another tablet of ibuprofen, if you need one.”
She sits up with a groan and grabs both of those. While she takes them in, I rise from my chair and leave the tablet on it. As soon as she’s done drinking, she returns the glass to the stand and lies back. I don’t resist the temptation to join her under the covers and bring her back to my front, settling us in a spooning position.
