Out On a Limb(76)

“Yep,” I say, clearing my throat.

“At least until tomorrow, when I go to the store.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Sounds good… I’m going to take a shower before bed. Um… feel free to set up your stuff in my room. I’ll sleep tucked against the wall—I like it better that way.” I have to consciously stop my feet from running to the bathroom Road Runner style once I’m done speaking.





CHAPTER 27





I brush my teeth twice and do a far longer skin care routine than I usually do in order to buy myself some extra time to calm down. The only thing that gets me out of the bathroom is the concerning thought that the longer I spend in here post-shower, the higher the chance that Bo thinks I’m avoiding sharing a bed with him.

Which I am, but not for the reasons he may think.

I knock on my bedroom door hesitantly, even after scurrying across the hall in nothing but a towel.

I hear a mumbled “uh-huh” from the other side of the door, and so I walk right in, summoning as much confidence as I can.

My bedroom is lit dimly by the lamp on the nightstand, casting the room in a soft, glowing hue. Bo is laid out on the bed next to the nightstand, resting above his pale grey comforter. One hand is holding his sudoku puzzle book and the other is in his hair, scratching above his ear. A pencil is between his teeth, causing his lips to form a straight, thin line. He’s wearing a dark purple T-shirt, black basketball shorts, and his glasses. Fuck me, those glasses. I notice that his prosthesis is leaned up against the wall, next to my dresser and the mess-heap of clothes I forgot to pick up this afternoon.

I hope he didn’t judge me too harshly for that.

“Sup,” he says, his voice exaggerated as he brings the pencil out of his mouth, jots something down, then places it back between his teeth. He’s yet to look up to greet me, and I smile to myself, seeing him in my room so comfortable. As if it’s completely natural for him to be here.

But I do enjoy what happens the moment he does look up to find me, probably wondering why I’m so quiet as I slink into the room. The pencil drops out of Bo’s mouth and clatters to the floor as he stares, slack-jawed, and his eyes practically double in size. Shaking himself, he shuts his lips tight, unable to keep his eyes still, switching between the towel wrapped around my body and the one on top of my head. “Do you need me to…?” He points to the door, vaguely looking over my shoulder, as if he’s in some sort of self-imposed dissociation.

“No, you’re good,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Just, uh, close your eyes for a second.” Once he does, I drop my towel and pull out the only remotely sexy pyjamas I own. It’s just a black slip dress, but it’s the closest thing to lingerie in a drawer otherwise occupied by ripped, baggy T-shirts and biker shorts.

It’s not that I think something might happen if I wear this “nightgown.” Without a conversation first, I highly doubt Bo’s going to suddenly make any sort of move on me after such clear boundaries have been established and upheld. And I’m certainly not going to. I’m already using all my courage just to share a room with him. It’s more of a little reminder…

Hey, I have a body. You like it, right?

When I turn back around, Bo’s eyes are clenched shut and he’s repeatedly stabbing his forehead with the rubber-eraser end of the pencil that he fetched off the ground.

He likes it, all right.

“All clear,” I say, pushing my lips together in order to not laugh at his tortured expression the second he opens his eyes and takes in the nightgown. The look across his face, before he corrects it, is the tiniest, most wonderful reminder of the desirability I felt all those months ago. All I can do is hope he wants my heart just as much as he seems to want my body.

Bo clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the book in his hand, tapping the corner of it with his pencil in a quick, unsteady rhythm.

I attempt to get into bed as delicately as I can, climbing over the shallow baseboard and up toward my pillow. I lie on my left side, facing Bo, propped up on the ridiculous number of pillows I now sleep on to avoid heartburn in the night.

Pulling my duvet over my bottom half, I stretch my neck to see his puzzle. “Four…” I point to an empty spot. “Right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Bo says distractedly. “Thanks,” he adds, filling in the square.

When I move away, his eyes follow me, dropping down to admire the hollow space between my breasts. He bites his lip and shuffles up the mattress, sitting straighter against the headboard. “Will the light bother you?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse. “I can turn it off.”

“All good,” I say, pulling out my phone.

“I’m almost done.”

It’s not until I catch myself yawning for the third time that I decide to look up from my phone. Bo’s sudoku book is closed on his lap, and he’s wearing a quiet, lazy smile as he looks down at my phone.

I’ve been looking at baby items online, compiling a list that Sarah’s insisted I needed to make for some sort of gift registry. I was dreading it, honestly, but I sort of got sucked into it the moment I realised how real it made it all feel. Looking at all the things our baby could be clothed, held, or wrapped in. It became more about August and less about me.

“Sorry. I disappeared into my own world. Are you ready for bed?” I ask.