Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Bristol
After the heart-stopping kiss last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Anson.
The potential for something more and the offer he made me in the changing room are replaying in my head.
The way he must have hurt those first few years after Fannie.
All that he’s done for me and everyone else.
I want more of his confessions. More of the man beneath all the hard work and stoicism.
He’s been patiently letting me lead the way in this whole friends-with-benefits deal and always giving me what I want.
I want to put him first the same way he does for everyone he loves in his life.
But the only way for us to get there, especially after he spilled his heart on the floor last night, is to show him I can be vulnerable for him too.
I’m just hoping I can walk the line without making a mess of this perfect thing we have going.
I lied before
When I said I didn’t have a fantasy. I do. But I’m scared to tell you what it is.
ANSON:
There’s nothing to be scared of.
Judgment free zone here.
Unless you want me to wear one of those blow up T.rex outfits or something. I mean. I’d do it but I don’t know how serious I could be about it.
I burst into loud laughter that earns me a raised brow from one of my customers. I mumble an apology and sneak behind a row of shelves before I answer him. I’m still picturing him in the costume, bumbling around with tiny arms and a tail.
I’m not even sure how that would work. Are there access panels on those things?
ANSON:
I don’t know. This is your fantasy. You tell me.
My laughter dies as I try to work my courage back up to telling him I just want to have sex in his bed.
That should be so simple right? But it would be crossing a line for us.
A big one. Dragging this thing we’re doing in back rooms and store alcoves right into the heart of his home.
That’s a bigger ask than he might be willing to take on.
Not just because of us, but because I don’t think he’s ever brought anyone home since Fannie.
He turned their old bedroom into a lounge area for him and Ford and moved into a smaller bedroom down the hall.
Bought a whole new bedroom set. I assumed at the time it was the grief.
Missing her and not wanting to drown in it.
Not wanting to see the things she’d touched every day and know she’d never be in his bed again.
But after his confession I imagine it was probably a lot more complicated for him than I ever knew.
I’d always given him a wide berth. I avoided his bedroom even when I helped with chores around the house while babysitting Ford over the years. It felt like invading a part of his space he didn’t let anyone in.
At least not until the night of the bat incident.
He practically forced me to take a nap and refused to just let me hit the couch.
It took me forever to fall asleep. Too busy cataloging all the little things about his room and him that I’d never known before.
The smell of his soap and cologne on the sheets.
The way he arranges his watch and wallet on the dresser.
When I finally had drifted off to sleep, I’d had another dream.
Another version of us as strangers, but one where he drags me back to that bed and tells me he wants me.
Not just for now but for always. Ever since then, I can’t stop imagining us in that room.
In that bed. Even if it’s just once, I want the chance for it to feel real between us.
ANSON:
In all seriousness though. You can tell me. I won’t judge.
He texts again because I’ve taken forever and a day to respond to him. He can sense my nervousness through the little dots popping up and fading away again on his phone, I’m sure.
Have you ever slept with someone in your bed?
I mean the one you have now. At the house.
ANSON:
No.
The one-word answer has me drawing in a sharp breath. I can see the furrows of his brow on the other side of this line.
Okay. Never mind then.
ANSON:
Why?
Nothing. It was a silly idea.
That’s not what I asked.
I nibble my lower lip as I stare at the keyboard. I’m trying to think of a reason. Back support. The need for him to get more sleep. But I land on the truth. He gave it to me and I owe it in return.
It feels off-limits.
ANSON:
For us?
Yes. In general.
It’s a line I haven’t crossed.
My stomach tumbles. I’m worried I’m asking too much of a man who already gives more than I deserve.
Right.
Like I said. Never mind.
Please forget I asked.
My thumbs blaze a path over the keyboard as I rush to erase the thought from his memory and mine. I should have known better than to ask for something so intimate. We’re already running riot over all of his rules.
ANSON:
I’ll make you a deal.
You dress up. Just for me.
Something you’ve never worn for anyone else. Not even to model it at the store.
Then I’ll give you my bed.
I could be wearing it in your bed.
Waiting for you.
Deal.
But I mean it. Only me.
Wasn’t that the point of the Kansas girl costume getting burned?
Didn’t burn it yet.
But I will.
Technically the same costume as one someone’s seen you in before. Even if that one was a little more…
Wholesome?
They were both wholesome in their own way.
I grin down at my phone.
ANSON:
So still a deal?
Still a deal.
My stomach tumbles again. This time it’s with butterflies at the thought of us taking another step over our imaginary line.
Anything that leads me a little closer to merging the two Ansons I know, the one I can count on and the one I can’t stop thinking about, has my heart skipping beats and daydreaming about other possibilities. Like a future beyond Halloween.