Chapter 30
30
Insomnia is the curse of an overactive brain. Reading doesn’t help. Nor does a mindless game on my phone. Blue light is as addictive as heroine. Most people don’t know that. Perhaps because they choose the ignorance is bliss lifestyle.
I wish I could.
I climb out of bed and trudge toward the sound of yet another nature documentary. Sounds like Peter’s revisiting the giant squid.
He’s in the same exact position that I usually find him during my midnight forages to the kitchen. Sprawled out on the couch, his arms crossed behind his head, his feet dangling over the opposite arm. At least he doesn’t suffer from being cold with only a throw blanket. The comforter from my apartment is draped across his prone body.
I’ve spent too many nights fighting. Mostly myself. It’s been a busy day at the office, and I’m tired. I’m woman enough to admit that I’m jealous of Isaac purring near Peter’s feet.
The man and the cat watch carefully as I stride toward the couch then lift the blanket to climb beneath. I squirm until all my soft parts align with harder ones. Isaac mews in protest of being evicted from his comfort, but I sigh in contentment as I find mine.
“Can’t sleep?” Peter murmurs as his hand finds my hair. He smooths it away from my face until he’s holding it in a makeshift ponytail.
“Can’t sleep?” I parrot back like a child. Also, it’s a genuine question. “You don’t often watch nature documentaries anymore.”
He tugs on my hair. Just the slightest amount of pressure. “Only when I miss the sound of you breathing beside me.”
“Only when you’re horny, you mean. You admitted that you find the giant squid oddly arousing.”
This time, his tug is more forceful. He maneuvers my head until I’m face to face with his serious gaze.
“You can’t possibly hold that against me,” he murmurs, his warm breath washing over my face. “We were both delirious with fever. I’m surprised you even remember that.”
“You also clearly remember it,” I point out. Helpfully. “If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be trying to hide behind fever delirium.”
He squints an eye at me. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“What makes you think I want a gentleman?”
His chest vibrates beneath me with a nearly silent chuckle. “Years of careful study.”
I make a buzzer sound in the back of my throat. “Wrong. Try again.”
His chest vibrates harder. “You don’t like emotions. You’re also viscerally against physical intimacy.”
I glare at him. “That is pathetic, Peter. Really? You honestly can do no better than this?”
His expression gentles as does his hold on my hair. “You’re still angry with me. We broke each other’s trust. Again. It’ll take some time to mend. ”
“It’s been a month,” I murmur as shame heats my cheeks.
Not only is it immature for me to stew in my anger for so long, but it’s also childish to be so stubborn. I’m not punishing Peter anymore.
I’m punishing myself.
He caresses my cheek with his free hand as he continues to gaze at me. The light from the television casts his face in shadows. I’m already addicted. If I’m being fully honest with myself, I have been for much longer than he has. From the very first time I saw him standing on the edges of a group in his baggy khakis, messy hair, and ratty t-shirt. I want to learn every nuance, every expression, every silent word that he conveys with those eyes. I want to see how he continues to change and grow.
“I would wait forever,” he promises.
“You shouldn’t have to. I’m sorry. I—”
He places a gentle hand over my mouth. “Don’t apologize to me. Not ever.”
I furrow my brow and shake my head until his hand falls away. I dislike the machismo concept of not apologizing when it’s warranted.
“I’ve been waiting for a grand gesture from you,” I confess, feeling like a girlish fool rather than an independent, highly educated genius. “For the past month when I tiptoe out here for a drink of water in the middle of the night, I’ve been collecting data to determine if you really want us to share a bed again. You seem neither discontent enough to convert the home office into an actual second bedroom nor have you ever tried to sneak into bed to sleep beside me. I’m left with the hypothesis that you’re also awaiting a grand gesture slash apology from me. For failure to communicate properly in a heated moment—”
He replaces his hand over my mouth then grins. “Are you sure you’re ready for these negotiations, Dr. Fowler? This won’t be like with Chet. Not only are we evenly matched, but there are also a few things that you should know I’m not willing to compromise on.”
We stare at each other in weighted silence, a different sort of game of chicken.
Who will be the first to break?
He squirms beneath me, reaches into his sweatpants pocket, then holds his closed fist at chest level before slowly uncurling his fingers to reveal a ring that sparkles in the light from the TV. The stone is cut in the shape of a heart. “This is my only non-negotiable parameter.”
I gasp—like an immature schoolgirl. “When did you get this?”
He squints a single eye as he sticks his tongue in his cheek. “Right before graduation.”
The pieces rapidly fall into place.
“With the winnings from the bet?” It’s a rhetorical question, but I ask it anyway.
He shakes his head. “This is how I won the bet. For years, I kept increasing the stakes while the prize grew larger. I knew damn well that none of those men would ever love you, but they were so obsessed with the competition that they never realized I’d already won. For years, they kept throwing more money in the pot before they paid me for getting what I wanted anyway.”
Something still doesn’t add up.
“You said you bought us cruise tickets with your winnings.” My heart pounds in my chest so rapidly that he must be able to feel it. “Was that where you were going to propose?”
He nods, his expression even.
“Why didn’t they make you pay back the money? You didn’t win after all.”
“The terms weren’t for you to accept a proposal,” he hedges. His body is more rigid than usual beneath me—tense to the point of breaking as he watches me stare at the ring. “Just for one of us to be confident enough to spend the money on a ring. I won, regardless of your answer.” His eyes swim with sadness. “And then I lost everything that mattered. I think they actually felt bad for me. No one had the balls to demand their money back.”
My head falls against his chest before I pick myself up to be brave. “Why didn’t you explain all of this to me when I asked you to?”
“If I had told you at that dinner months ago that I’d bought you an engagement ring, how would you have reacted?”
I glance at him with a mixture of emotions swirling through me. Too many to name a single one. “I would have felt sorry for your stupidity, presumptuousness, and devotion. All things considered.”
He smirks then he shoves the ring back into his pocket. “Obsessive tendencies, remember? This is the only thing I insist on in these negotiations. The only thing I won’t give up in our compromise. I want you to be mine. It doesn’t have to happen tonight, or even in the next few years. I’ll wait until you’re ready. But before I leave this world, this is what I ask from you.” He forges on, gluing my heart back together though I’m not certain he knows what he’s doing. “What do you ask of me? What would you like to define, negotiate, and have clear parameters about?”
I gaze up at his face as a calming yet invigorating sense of a lifetime of possibilities unfolds before me. Hypotheses not yet formed dance on the edges of my mind.
“Are you sure you’re ready for these negotiations, Dr. Carrington? It might take us all night.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Only a single night? I expect so much more from a genius of your caliber.”
I grin. Then, I kiss him.