I stroke his cheek and speak carefully. “I won’t try to convince you. You can’t decide something this important just because I want it—”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t like when I don’t get what I want—”
He lifts his head. “I wouldn’t.We’re talking about bringing a new person into the world, not whether a painting looks better in the dining room or the dumpster. So talk to me and tell me what you think and what you feel. This is how we work, and it’s why, when we’re eighty, we’re still going to work.”
I swallow. “Okay. Here it is. You and I are more than capable of figuring things out as we go. We can create an environment that works for everyone, no matter what job either of us has. And if it’s a lot for me, I don’t care. It will be worth every second.”
He brushes his fingers across my forehead. Down my temple. Over the crest of my cheekbone. But he doesn’t say a word.
The physical demands of the day catch up to me in a swell of fatigue, and a yawn slips out.
The emotional crash of no longer holding all of it inside feels like permission to rest. The ball is in his court now, after all.
“You’re exhausted,” he says.
Though I can’t see in the darkness, I drag my eyelids open to prove to myself I can. “I’m not too tired to talk,” I mumble.
His warm laugh brushes over my temple before he presses his lips against my skin. “We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow. I promise. I need to think, anyway. Any more tonight would be going in circles.”
I nod. He didn’t say “yes,” but he didn’t say “no.” Either way, Henry and I are solid.
“I failed on my orgasm mission today. I didn’t take certain variables into account. Now I have to roll today’s missed opportunities forward to tomorrow,” he muses. “Rest. You’re waking in the morning with a bang.”
My laugh follows me into my dreams.
7
Everything Everywhere Always
Henry
BANGBANGBANG.Someone’sfist raps against our door. Beside me, Franki jolts upright from a dead sleep. I lunge from the bed, arm myself, put my glasses on my nose, and approach the door in one liquid motion.
“Henry? I have a problem,” a panicked British voice calls.
I lower my gun. “Elliot, it’s barely dawn. Go away.”
“I would. I want to. Truly, I desperately want to. But if I do, I fear it may be too late to rectify a situation,” he calls.
Franki snaps on the lamp, and I step closer to the door.
“You’re naked,” Franki reminds me.
I glance downward at my half-mast cock I would have put to excellent use if Elliot hadn’t, once more, derailed my plans. “Wait a minute, and keep your mouth shut while you do it. There are other people trying to sleep on this floor,” I snarl through the door.
Franki gives me a look of mild reproach as she retrieves clothes for me and tosses them my way. I drag them on, and sheperches on the edge of the bed, sleepy eyed and heart-achingly beautiful with her hair a wild nimbus.
I reach for my phone and snap a photo of her.
She offers me a small smile. “You can’t let anyone see that one.”
I frown. “Because of your nightgown? It covers more than yesterday’s dress.”
She yawns behind her hand. “Because I have bedhead.”
Oh. “I love your hair.”
