13. Just for Sleep
IAN
“Hey, Ian,” she said. Just her voice on the phone made my shoulders come down.
“It’s late. I hope I didn’t wake you.” What a lame thing to say. I was so lame.
“Nope. I’m lying here staring at the ceiling, thinking about the things I need to get done. How was the rehearsal?”
I grinned, alone and thus invisible. “It was amazing. Sheree’s incredible. And you should hear those guys she found to round out her horn section. I mean, they are crisp.”
“So, your idea is going to work.”
I’d forgotten the song was my idea. Sheree and her band were so good, they owned it. “She’s, like, honoring Celia Cruz without trying to copy her. It’s a Celia Cruz song by Sheree. I think it’s going to be a real hit.”
“I never doubted it.” I heard the smile in her voice, and that pleased me. But then the topic was complete, and we were left with a silence.
“Um, how’s Charlotte?” I asked in desperation.
“She’s good. She’s right here. She has her own bed, don’t you, baby? No, you stay there. Charlotte, stay. Good girl. She’s really very smart.”
“You’re good with her.”
“Ha. The only reason she listens to me is because Archer isn’t in sight.”
In my opinion, Archer ought to have made his way directly from rehearsal to Nicky’s room, and not for the dog either. But he’d connected with the dancer who’d kissed him the other night—Martina—and they’d left the rehearsal together. Wasn’t my place to tell Nicky her boyfriend was sleeping around.
The pause had dragged on too long. “My head feels funny,” I blurted.
“Like a headache?”
“Nah. Like no hair.”
“It looks good, Ian. I promise.”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t so sure, and I rubbed my hand across the low fuzz. “Sheree said it was a good look.”
“There. See?”
“Yeah. Still strange, though.”
“I’m sure.”
Another silence was threatening. I was such an idiot. All right, just ask. Just do it, you coward.
“So, like, Archer’s asleep and he wouldn’t see?—”
“See what?” she asked.
My throat was tight. Was it possible for the heart to rise in the chest and choke me? “See if you came over here and, um, you could sleep here. I mean, if you want to. You and Charlotte.”
“Oh,” she said, and her voice was unreadable.
In a panic, I raced to fill the silence. “I need to be able to sleep. Tomorrow night’s gig is going to be, well, pretty important—I mean, they’re all important, it’s not like this one is more—I don’t know, I just play so much better when I sleep, and I don’t seem to be able to sleep, like, I’m not tired right now not at all and I need to—we have sound check at two, so if I could just sleep?—”
“Give us ten minutes,” she said, interrupting my verbal diarrhea.
“Really?”
She chuckled. “Really. What room number?”
“Uh, it’s 719.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
I ended the call and stared at the phone in my hand. That easy? I was going to sleep. It would be awkward, but I’d end up sleeping. And waking up feeling human again.
Worth the awkwardness. Worth sharing a bed with someone who was pining for my best friend. He didn’t need to know. He wouldn’t care if he did.
Suddenly, I was galvanized into action. I needed to brush my teeth. Was the room a pigsty? Were there towels if she wanted to take a shower, or had I used them all up?
I was waiting at the open door when I heard the elevator ding. She saw me and dropped Charlotte’s leash. The puppy ran for me in full wiggle. Adorable.
I bent to caress the dog when she arrived and hoped she wouldn’t bark. I looked up when Nicky got to us and pointed down the hall. Archer, I mouthed.
Okay, she mouthed back, and then we were in my room with the door shut. Success. No one had seen her arrive.
She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. No bra—not that I noticed. She put her tote bag on the sofa, and then changed her mind and stuffed it on top of the TV cabinet. So Charlotte wouldn’t get at it. Smart.
“Your room is so nice!” She went to the sliding doors and opened them to the balcony. “You’re right on the ocean. I’m on the second floor with an exciting view of the conference center.”
“Nice.” It occurred to me that she might have expected two twin beds instead of the king. She might want to leave. But when she came back in and closed the balcony door, she didn’t seem to notice anything wrong.
“God, it’s so muggy. I’d love to sleep with the doors open to hear the surf, but I think we’d be too hot.”
“Yeah. Air conditioning. Miami in June, right? Plus if Charlotte went out, she might start barking, and Archer might hear that she’s up here.”
“Oh, shit. You’re right. Okay, door closed then! That AC feels good, huh?”
Then we were standing there facing each other, with an enormous bed behind us. My Olson was in its case. Would it be more or less awkward if I did some scales? Charlotte plopped down on the rug to watch us.
“Your head looks good, Ian.”
Now I was awkward and feeling self-conscious. I ducked my head. “Um, okay.”
“You don’t think so?”
My unwilling chuckle came out of me like a cartoon—huh-huh-huh. “I have a hard time looking at myself in the bathroom mirror,” I admitted.
“It’s nowhere near as bad as you think.”
There was no polite response to that. She was trying to be nice. “Okay.”
She shook her head. “You’ll feel better once you’re used to it. Let’s get some sleep.” Just like that. As if it were easy. She retrieved her bag and pulled out Archer’s ruined boot. “I brought your favorite chew toy, baby.” She crouched and kissed Charlotte’s head. The puppy wagged happily and draped her body entirely over the boot. “Be good. Don’t eat Ian’s things.”
“I have everything in the closet. The door’s closed.”
“Good. How do I get these lights? Can I plug in my phone? Which side do you want?”
I gratefully followed her lead. We ignored the awkwardness. After all, this wasn’t the first time we’d slept side by side.
“Those covers feel good, don’t they?” she said brightly once we were in bed. “Funny to need to bundle up in June. That’s good air conditioning.”
“Want me to turn it down?”
We had a silly conversation about whether “turning the air conditioning down” meant “make it colder” or “make it warmer,” and then that petered out. It occurred to me that, unlike the other times we’d slept, we were under the same sheet, the same blanket, the same bedspread.
If I reached my foot out far enough, I would run into her bare foot. That thought was when I discovered that two nights of good sleep in three days was the point at which the libido woke up again. My cock twitched. At the thought of her naked foot.
Nope. Not going there. Archer would get to her eventually, and that was what she wanted. This was not my territory to poach.
I turned on my side, facing her but with plenty of room between us, and curled up to mask the beginnings of wood. Go back to sleep, I thought sternly.
She looked over when I moved. “How’s that pillow feel on your head?” she asked. Her voice was smiling.
“So very strange. There’s nothing to get in my way, you know?”
“Oh, I know. I’ve had long hair most of my life.”
“You don’t braid it when you sleep. Do you just lie on it? Or flip it up over the pillow? How do you handle it?”
“Well, mostly I sleep on my side, so it doesn’t matter.”
What a senseless discussion. Who cared? But at least it was easy. No awkwardness. “Which side?” I asked. Which was none of my business.
“Oh. Well, I guess I start out on my left.” She rolled to face me. “But both sides, really.”
“Yeah?” Now we were facing each other. Two feet of space between us. More wood for me. Cut that out. “Look, I’m going to bump my foot against yours so we can get used to that and be calm, okay?”
She was the one who stretched her foot out, nudging my shin. “Can’t sleep while we’re all worked up about keeping our distance.”
“Exactly.”
She pulled her foot back, and then poked me with one finger on my shoulder. “There. Ice broken.”
“Ice broken. Damn, this pillow feels cold on my head.”
“Hair is a good insulator,” she agreed. “Horrible in June in Miami, though. I walked around tonight and thought about shaving my head.”
“That would be a tragedy,” I said gallantly, and she laughed. “What did you see out there?”
She told me about her evening, and I told her about Sheree singing “Oriza Eh.” We relaxed. “I feel like I’m winding down,” I admitted.
“Good winding down, or bad winding down?” She yawned.
“Good. Like, I think I’m getting sleepy.”
“That’s excellent. I’ll make sure to breathe sleepily so you can hear me.”
I chuckled. Before she sank below the level of conversation, I did a survey. My body was sleeping. All was well. And courage had stood me in good stead today. I could push it. See what happened.
“Nicky.”
“Hmm?”
“If you want to, you could . . . come over here.” Her eyes opened, and I patted my chest. “If you want to. Just to sleep.” She didn’t move. Had I blown it? “It would be warmer,” I tried.
She inhaled, and then I smiled as she shifted. I rolled to my back, and she tucked herself neatly into my side, her head on my chest. My arm came around her like she was made to fit my touch.
“Ahh,” I said thoughtlessly. “That feels better.”
I felt tension in her body, but after a beat, she agreed. “Better.”
Her weight was an anchor. She felt like security. Like safety. “Want me to bump my foot into yours so you feel more comfortable?” I teased. She laughed against me, her hair tickling my cheek. “Let me have this hand,” I said, reaching for one of the hands she had bent close against her chest.
She raised her hand, and I planted it firmly on my chest. “You can touch me. It’s okay. We’re just going to sleep.”
“Just going to sleep,” she repeated. I felt it when she inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, some of the tension had bled away. Slowly, her hand crept upward until her cool fingers slid against my throat to curl around my neck.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said. “Very okay. Feels good. Can you feel sleep coming?”
“I think so.”
“Deep breaths. You and me both.”
Our ribs pressed together as we inhaled. I tracked my breaths to hers. We concentrated on that until I slid into the bliss of nothingness.
Which ended when a large, wet something swiped against my low spine. What the hell?