“Uh… what about you? Got any plans for today?”
“Not really,” he shrugs. “I’m not in the mood to go out in public after everything, so… I’ll probably just hang here with Grandpa.”
He turns on the shower, so I can’t see his expression to confirm, but I’m sure the mere mention of facing the public has him stressed. His back’s still to me as he walks his clothes over to the hamper, then he doubles back to the shower and hops beneath the steam.
I don’t realize I’m leaning in my seat to get a better look at him until I knock my hairbrush to the floor with my elbow. He doesn’t seem to notice as I grab it, briefly forgetting the gravity of our conversation as a thought creeps into my head.
That my husband is only getting hotter with age.
Focus, Blue.
I peek at the time on my phone, then put my things back in the drawer. It’s time to go grab Scar and head over to thecenter, but I feel this strange tug in my heart at the thought of leaving. Last night was such a rollercoaster. We were low, never quite reaching high, but as we dozed off, we were definitely somewhere in the middle.
I need to get going but slipping out like I’m doing the walk of shame in my own home doesn’t feel right. So, I ignore the tiny voice inside my head telling me to just yell goodbye and leave, choosing instead to follow my heart.
The shower door pops open, and West stops in the middle of washing his chest to stare as I hold the handle with a white-knuckled grip. A breath hitches in my throat, and I almost lose my nerve, but before that can happen, I lean in and squeeze the back of West’s neck to pull him from under the water. Just enough to reach his lips without getting my hair wet.
Our lips meet, and he draws a deep breath. What’s meant to be a quick peck turns into a little more than that. He tilts his head to the side, sucking the flavored gloss from my lips, and my tongue slips into his mouth. My pulse thunders at the hollow of my throat, and heat builds between my legs, but last night’s sleepover isn’t supposed to lead to sex.
I pull away despite wanting so badly to get carried away with him this morning. And as he blinks down on me, I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve wanted him so badly that I’ve felt actual physical pain.
Beneath the flow of the water, I see the unmistakable shift as his body reacts to me. And my husband being the cocky bastard he is, he doesn’t look away. It doesn’t help that he’s engulfed in steam and looks like a being not of this world—soaked, dark hair falling over his shoulders, ink covering his chest and arms that have been carefully sculpted over the years.
I swallow deeply, then force myself to take a step back.
“I… just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
He doesn’t say a word, just drags a look over me as he backs under the water. The visual reminds me of an incident in high school. When a much more reactive version of myself stormed into the locker room to confront him after he left my car on bricks in the parking lot.
“I’ll um… I’ll talk to you later.”
He nods slowly, looking as flustered as Ifeel. But then in an instant, he’s grounded and speaking with a clear head.
“Blue…”
I pause with the shower door already halfway closed. “Yeah?”
He blinks and droplets of warm water fall from his lashes. “I love you.”
The words bypass my head completely and go straight to my heart. “I love you too.”
Of course, I do. And he knows that no matter what happens, no matter what we face, that’ll never change.
Ever.
So, slowly, fighting myself every step of the way, I close the shower door completely and leave.
As I make my way out of our bedroom and down the hallway, fear trails close behind.
What if, despite our best effort, we don’t get more mornings like this?
What if… it’s impossible to hold onto this version of us?
*
@QweenPandora:
Well, I didn’t see that one coming.
