Chapter 6 #2
“I think tonight I’m going to take it easy. Study a bit for the Bar.”
Even avoiding looking at him, I know he’s disappointed. “I can throw some steaks on the grill or order a pizza.”
I swallow the chance that I let slip away. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Okay. Well...”
“I’ll see you in the morning for Margo’s.”
“Will you play along for Margo?”
I touch my hair nervously. “I’ll sleep on it.”
Ford throws his hands up in surrender. “That’s all I can ask. If you need anything, then just find me. My bedroom door will be open.”
My eyes gawk at him in a double take.
He quickly pinches my cheek on the way by. “Take that how you want. All options are on the table, but just remember, I don’t sleep with a shirt on,” he calls out in passing.
After attempting to study, exchanging some texts with my son, and changing into pajamas before braiding my hair, I tried to sleep. An epic fail, as I tossed and turned for a good hour.
It’s the middle of the night when I venture downstairs for a drink. The kitchen is big and should be filled with family meals and kids. I shake my head when I catch myself daydreaming. I’m relieved to find myself alone in the kitchen.
Yet disappointed at the same time.
By the time I’m back upstairs, I slow my steps in the hallway, well aware that Ford’s bedroom is a magnetic pull, and he wasn’t lying about keeping the door open.
I can’t help myself, and I stop to check out the view of Ford sleeping. He’s a stomach sleeper, so I only see his bare back under the stream of light from the hallway. He looks peaceful. At least one of us can sleep tonight.
God, I could watch him like this for hours. After I had Connor, I did a few times. Sometimes when Connor was a baby and would sleep on Ford’s chest, and another time quite recently. Except, I don’t think Ford knows. He was resting in the hospital after a game where he yet again got hit too hard.
I won’t go down memory lane, I repeat to myself.
I step to the side but don’t get far.
“You know you can come under my covers, and I promise to be a gentleman,” Ford speaks in a drowsy tone.
I roll my eyes, amused, and walk into his room. “Pretending to sleep?” I plant my hands on my hips.
Ford rolls to his back and slides up the bed against the backboard.
Holy hell, this view is weakening any shred of resolve between my legs.
His biceps are just ridiculously toned but not too bulky, and bare-chest Ford is always a winner too.
He holds open his duvet. “Come on, it’s cold.”
“It’s summer.”
“And you’re cold.” His eyes drop down to my chest, and I look to realize my nipples are hard underneath my tank top. I bring my arms up to cover myself. “I promise,” he insists.
I step forward, hesitate, then take another step before easily walking to his bed and sliding under the covers. I don’t recognize my willingness right now, but I don’t question it either.
We lie on our sides and face one another, oddly aware that this isn’t sexual but is by no means platonic either.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I confess.
His face softens. “You still braid your hair at night.”
I look at him peculiarly. “You remember?”
“Every detail. Why were you watching me?”
“I don’t know. I was remembering when you were in the hospital a year ago.”
Ford slides my braid over my shoulder. “I’m beginning to think watching me when I sleep is a habit for you.”
“Ah, so you knew I was there?”
“The hospital? Yeah, a nurse told me.”
“How come you never let me know?” I snuggle into the mattress, apparently feeling like I’m going to stay here.
Ford takes it as his cue to also get more comfortable in bed. “Because I wouldn’t have let it go, so I kept my mouth shut.”
“Until now.” My voice sounds delicate.
“There are many times we could have openly questioned ourselves, but we didn’t. Here we are now, tired, in my bed and with opportunity.”
I playfully swat his shoulder.
“I meant this week, not in this moment. Although, I do have you in a prime location right now.” Ford pretends to consider.
“Go to sleep.”
“You’re staying here?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’m cold,” I remind him.
“Then come here.”
He brings an arm around me, encircling us together. When he kisses the top of my head, I can’t help but feel like we never missed a page, because lying with him in bed feels as natural as the air I breathe.
“You have good arms,” I comment.
“I’m not even going to give a comeback because you know you just gave away that you’ve been checking me out.”
“You’re the father of our child, I’m always checking you out,” I declare matter-of-factly.
He squeezes me tighter. “I’m more than that and you know it.”
I don’t answer, instead opting for us to lie with each other, occasionally glancing and touching one another’s face or an arm or tracing a vein from the top of a hand up.
Staying in his bed is a one-way ticket to confusion.
“Night, Ford,” I whisper.
He sighs as I begin to wiggle out of his bed. “Your loss.”
“I’m sure,” I retort.
Walking out of his room, I know that the last few hours are enough to encourage me to jump over the cliff.
Because the next morning when I wake, I pick up the ring box.