Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Sleepover
Istrolled past shop windows after my shift, eyeing the jewelry displays that proclaimed a sparkling gift would ‘show my love’ for Valentine’s Day.
Angel would look dashing with a gold chain. But we couldn’t wear jewelry in surgery. Or near MRI machines. Too risky. Not that his gift had to be work-related. A custom badge holder and compression socks didn’t exactly scream romance.
The pink Closette bag security hadn’t really wanted to check for me brushed against my leg as I kept window shopping. Sure, I could say I bought this lingerie for my boyfriend. But I wanted to give him a present more meaningful than tantalizing.
What kind of gesture would really show how much he meant to me? I’d already gotten on my knees, and I wasn’t going to ‘give’ him my virginity. That part of our relationship would happen naturally.
After all, I loved him, and he’d expressed some pretty big feelings for me.
But maybe the words ‘I love you’ weren’t a big deal to him, just a phrase people said after an orgasm.
I’d have to ask him.
Be brave, Tori.
If I could blow him during a shift, surely, I could confess my feelings.
As I entered the restaurant, I texted Angel to let him know I was there, then hesitantly checked my muted text thread with Mom. She’d asked me to call her when I was ready, and swore she’d explain everything. ‘Love you, Tori.’
It slashed my insides like an empty promise.
Those words meant something. To me. So did actions. Mine needed to be right—especially in a new relationship.
My stomach twisted in knots as I walked into the Cake Warehouse, mentally rehearsing a beautiful moment between us. Maybe I could give him another one of Sal’s plushies and say, ‘Love is in the air. And I love you, Angel.’
Or was that piggybacking off his courting gesture when he got me a scented bear?
I wandered by the front desk in search of my man.
The hostess side-eyed me. “Do you have a reservation?” she asked.
I stopped myself mid-step. “I’m looking for my boyfriend, Angel. Do you know him?”
She chuckled, haughty. “Oh yeah, I know him.”
Not the way I did.
Well, hopefully not.
Bristling, I crossed my arms, and her smile dropped pretty quickly.
“He’s got the section by the windows,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, clutching my bag tighter as I walked off.
Angel had a past. Everyone did, to some extent. I just hated the idea that someone else might’ve held his attention. Or heart. Or hand. Or anything else, for that matter.
I’d taken his interest for granted in school. I wasn’t about to let that happen again.
Angel stopped in the aisle, his expression brightening at the sight of me. “Pigeon.”
My heart fluttered. He didn’t light up like that for anyone else.
I waved and the Closette bag flapped around my arm.
“Will I have the pleasure of another fashion show later?” He kissed me as if he’d never had food and safety training.
“Mm, Angel,” I gently pushed him back, my face aflame. “Aren’t you still working?” Where anyone could see?
“I just have two more tables to close out. Why don’t you pick out dessert for us to take home?”
“Home. With you,” I said wistfully. “I like the sound of that. Especially when it comes with cake.”
He laughed and pinched my cheek.
Eventually, we returned to his mom’s place with our bags, my heart racing with anticipation.
“I’ll start cooking,” he said.
“I’ll set the table.” I grabbed a set of pretty floral dishware, then headed toward the dining room.
“Where are you going? That’s only for Thanksgiving.” He redirected me to the coffee table in front of the couch and TV.
“Are you sure it’s okay to eat over here?” I hedged. These were white sofas.
“Yeah. I thought we could watch a movie while I make our main course.”
“I can help. Or keep you company,” I offered, half-sitting on an uncomfortable stool at the kitchen island. Why did they buy these? Because they matched the color scheme?
He fluffed out a blanket for me on the couch. “Put your feet up, pidge. I’ll add commentary and snuggle you when everything’s simmering.”
“That sounds nice.” I settled onto the couch and flipped through our options on the TV. Most of the recommendations were classic movies from the black and white era. “Are these films where you got your vernacular?”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asked with a transatlantic accent, sprinkling something green in a sizzling pan. “I’ve always fancied myself leading man material.”
I rolled my eyes fondly. “In old-timey movies, didn’t they refer to women as ‘birds?’ Is that where you got ‘pigeon?’”
“Oh, no.” He laughed, scratching his flushed neck. “I’m not sure where that came from.”
I sat up, scandalized. “You’re lying.”
He gave me a wry smile. “Maybe I saw a cute girl who seemed completely unaffected by my charms, much like a pigeon to passersby.”
“I-I wasn’t completely unaffected,” I said, pulling at the edge of the blanket. “You were very distracting.”
Angel smirked. “Was I? Well, maybe ‘pigeon’s’ a cute nickname I enjoyed from an animated dog movie, my ‘Lady.’”
I burst out laughing, and so did he.
“That’s very sweet,” I said, resting my cheek on the pillowed back of the couch. “You might be a rascal, sometimes, but I wouldn’t call you my ‘Tramp.’ You’re…”
My love.
“…my darling,” I finished, tentatively meeting his gaze.
“Now who’s being sweet?” He winked, lifting a spoon to his lips.
“Not too sweet, I hope?” I prodded meaningfully.
The creases around his eyes softened. “No. Not too sweet, Tori.”
Relief coursed through me.
I could be romantic without it being flippant or na?ve.
“Here, see if this is seasoned to your liking,” he said, offering me a spoonful of risotto.
The rich tang reminded me of a hearty soup, warmth soothing my throat and spreading through my belly.
“That’s delicious,” I said.
He bobbed his shoulders with pride. “I told you I’d show you what I could do.”
“I thought you meant in the bedroom,” I joked.
“That too.” He pecked my lips and resumed cooking.
Satisfied, I flopped onto the couch and picked a cute movie about a princess who burned out on her duties and ran away for a few magical days with a potential scoundrel who grew to love her.
I sniffled at their big farewell scene, mostly finished with my risotto and dessert, and snuggled with Angel, who licked his spoon clean.
“I wish they could stay together,” I said.
He shrugged. “I like to think they straightened out their lives after this, that she’d be stronger and wiser, and he’d have made something of himself by the time they met again.”
“You think they’ll meet again?”
He tapped my nose with his finger. “Love works in mysterious ways, pigeon.”
Love?
Did he mean us? Because we’d met again.
I was an overwhelmed, occasionally na?ve young lady who’d spent the last few weeks on a whirlwind adventure with him.
He gestured to the stairs with his chin. “Why don’t you head upstairs? I’ll finish tidying.”
“I want to help,” I said, reaching for the dishes.
“Tomorrow, sweetheart. Tonight, let me treat you like a princess.” He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and scooped me up in a bridal carry.
Laughing, I hugged him tighter. “Be careful. I don’t wanna be responsible for any accidental injuries.”
“I’m stronger than you think, my lady,” he said.
Each step drew me further into this fantasy of him being my prince. My Angel. He laid me down on his bed and kissed me.
“You get settled in for sleep. I’ll come when I can,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay.” I dragged him in for one more kiss. “Thank you, sire. You may take your leave.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed, flashing me a devilish smile before he sauntered down the stairs.
Maybe tonight I could tell him I loved him. I just had to set the scene.
What’d be romantic? Soft lighting. I scrounged for some candles and a lighter in the linen closet. Once those were set, I changed into my silky chemise and matching robe to pose on his bed: sensual and approachable.
But after fifteen minutes, I got antsy. Where was he?
I padded downstairs to find him reading at the dinner table.
He was so cute when he was focused—his shirt unbuttoned, one finger idly tracing his lips. I could picture him in another era, a romantic man of charm and intellect.
“Come to bed, Angel?” I extended my hand, my attempt to be coquette weighed with exhaustion.
He turned from his books, bags under his eyes and hair mussed from propping up his head. “Sorry, pidge. I have to finish this for class.”
I restrained my hand behind me. “No worries. Take as long as you need.”
He had homework. Of course that’d take priority. We could talk about our feelings after a good night’s sleep, presuming he got any. Maybe he need an energy boost.
I slipped into the kitchen and made him a snack: sliced apples and peanut butter with a mug of chamomile tea. Little treats always helped me study.
“Here’s a light snack to keep you going,” I whispered, pushing the plate and mug within his reach.
He sat up in surprise. “You made this for me?”
I shrugged, my face hot. “I just sliced, spread, and brewed a few things.”
He probably wasn’t even hungry.
“That was awfully nice of you,” he said, his gaze lowered.
Had I overstepped by raiding the kitchen?
I waved awkwardly and backed away. “I’ll leave you to your studies. Goodnight, and good luck with your reading.”
“Wait.” He frowned and stood. “You need another goodnight kiss.”
I stroked the sash of my robe. “Wouldn’t that distract you from your studies?”
He strode across the kitchen to clasp my face between his hands. “I need help with anatomy. Yours, please.” He traced the underside of my wide, bewildered smile before claiming my lips in a deep kiss that warmed my bones.
His breath fanned across my lips. “Thank you for supporting my education.”
“Always,” I said.
If we hadn’t been holding onto each other, I might’ve floated to bed.
***
I’d passed out in movie theaters and cars without a problem, but here, in Angel’s comfy bed, I felt an aching absence. It tied my stomach in knots with giddy anticipation. My boyfriend and I were spending the night together. Sort of.
I hugged my scented bear, tossing and turning until I wore myself out listening to an old educational show playing on my phone.
A feather-light touch tucking the blanket higher on my shoulder roused me.
“Angel,” I murmured, reaching for him in the dark.
He clasped my hand. “Hey, pidge. Trying to learn about color theory in your sleep?”
“The teacher’s voice is soothing,” I grumbled, pulling him closer.
He settled in beside me. “Is that why you’d nod off in our classes?”
“I was tired. Some jerk kept poking me awake though.” I grumbled into his bare chest.
“Wouldn’t want you to miss anything, sweetie. But now, I’ll let you sleep.” He kissed my forehead, and a pleasant tingle spread through my veins.
This was better than any medication.
It made me happy. At ease. This could be every day, eventually.
We hugged each other, his heartbeat a reassuring thud under my cheek.
“I love you,” I mumbled, groggy.
“Mm?” He stirred and rubbed my arm.
Oh no. This couldn’t be how I told him.
“Nothing.” I kissed his chest, smothering the urge to spill more of my feelings. “I just don’t want to miss anything either, especially when it comes to you.”
He rubbed my shoulder and sighed dreamily. “I’m not going to want you to leave after this week.”
“You wanna keep me?” I grinned.
“Yep. My personal attending physician. You give me this feeling…”
“What feeling is that?” I lifted my head in nervous excitement. “Angel?”
His breathing grew heavy. He must’ve fallen asleep. Dark lashes curtained his eyes, and I resisted the urge to run my fingers through his silver-white hair. He was so vulnerable in his beauty.
I settled into the crook of his chest, relishing in the subconscious squeeze he gave me to keep me close.
If I did have trouble sleeping tonight, it was only because reality was finally better than my dreams.