“Dead on my feet. You?”
He nods, his eyes intense on mine, and then he chuckles, dropping his chin and running a hand through his hair. “Look, Lindy. I can make this easier and just sleep on the couch.”
“Jo would know.”
Because of Pat’s early football mornings, Jo never realized Pat and I were sleeping in separate bedrooms. On the weekends, whenever Jo and I rolled out of bed, coffee and breakfast were already made, and Pat was already blazing like the morning sun. He is never more annoying than he is first thing in the morning. Annoying and also more than a little endearing.
Ever since I kissed Pat at the game, I’ve been debating with myself, feeling like I was plucking petals from a daisy. Only, instead of asking if he loves me or loves me not, I’m going back and forth about myself and mitigating my risks.
I risk it all; I run away. I risk it all; I run away. I risk it all; I run away.
I’m still plucking a never-ending stream of petals, no closer to an answer even now.
Risk it all; run away.
Pat’s deep brown eyes meet mine, and the last petal falls. Risk it all.
I step closer to Pat, close enough to feel an electric charge in the air between us. “We can be adults about this.”
Pat’s eyebrows slowly climb up, and his smile erases the worry that’s been hanging in his eyes all day. “You want to be … adult with me, Lindybird?”
I feel more than a flutter in my belly; it’s more like a seismic shift. A blush starts creeping up my chest and neck, finally reaching my cheeks. It’s utterly ridiculous that I’m having this reaction. Pat and I are, in fact, adults. And even if we’re talking about the figurative sense of being adult, we are married. We can be allllll the kinds of adult we want to be. We are free to do any adulting we’d like.
My face isn’t the only part of me that’s hot. “I’m saying we can safely share a bed like two mature people. For sleeping purposes.”
Even though we never shared a bed. Or slept together—in the literal or figurative sense. A few accidental naps on the couch in college were as close to sleeping together as we came.
Pat’s eyes darken into deep wells, and I’d happily throw myself into them any day of the week. “You don’t think that’s … risky?” he asks.
Risk it all. Risk it all. Risk it all. It’s now like a chant in my head, not so different from the cheers in the stadium the night before.
I don’t want to simply share a bed with this man. I want to share it all. I could lose everything tomorrow—but I could have everything tonight.
Pat and I are married. Even the Hallmark Channel would approve of whatever happens behind that closed door. We’ve made our vows—okay, maybe we skipped the vows, but our signatures on the marriage certificate are legally binding and fully official. The agreement we made out of desperation and in haste, has felt more real every day. We’ve been growing into silent promises we made. We’re living this marriage into existence.
I think of our public kiss at the stadium and then our private one in the rain, wrapped in a wet bed sheet. I eye the brick wall where he gently pressed me earlier, making me lose time.
I remember watching Pat braid Jo’s hair, coming home to see what new thing he fixed in the house. The way his eyes met mine first thing after the team won the game, just before a cooler of icy Gatorade was dumped over his head. I think of his bare chest, fresh and dripping from the shower, and the way he pulled me into his chest on the porch swing. Meeting his eyes over Jo’s head just now, snuggled in her bed.
Pat and I have made a montage of memories in such a short time, and I want more.
More, more, MORE.
Desire floods through me. Now that the idea is there, I’m electrified, almost desperate for the need to have Pat completely, in all the ways I can.