Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
We spend the day in the tent, finding any excuse to touch each other as we decorate it. I’ve brought more and more things out each time I’ve run in to grab something to eat or use the bathroom, and now we’ve got quite the setup in here.
Pillows and blankets, a six pack of pumpkin porter, and even my laptop. He’s helped me hang up string lights, floating candles, and all my usual indoor Halloween decor. At this point, I don’t think I’ll ever sleep in my house again. Not when I can be out here so comfortably with him.
I’ve chattered along all day and although he can’t speak, the conversation has not been completely one sided. Despite not speaking, he points and gestures and changes his LED eyes to let me know exactly what he means.
I let my laptop stream Halloween movies while we make paper ghosts, and when he sees people carving pumpkins, he becomes animated, pointing to the ones we used in the photography backdrop.
“Great idea, BJ! Let’s do it.” I smile at him.
I grab a folding table from the garage and then cover it in newspaper for easy cleanup. I lay out my pumpkin carving tools and then BJ helps me put two of the big fat pumpkins on top.
He sits on his knees so he can reach the table and looks at me for instructions.
“Okay, first we cut off the top and then put it on its side and scoop out its guts,” I say, pulling out a handful of pumpkin innards and plopping them down on the table.
His eyes go comically wide as he peers inside the pumpkin, down at his own empty torso, and then back into the pumpkin.
I rush to reassure him. “No one scooped out your guts. You just don’t have any. Don’t worry, you're perfect just the way you are.”
His eyes turn to smiling faces and I can tell he’s laughing again from the shaking of his ribs.
“Wait, BJ? Did you just make a joke?” I ask, mouth open in surprise.
He nods, and I start laughing right along with him.
“I like when you’re humerus,” I say and poke him in the arm bone. I’m laughing so hard at my own joke, I can hardly get out, “Get it? Humerus?”
He rolls his eyes at me, but his shoulders keep shaking in silent laughter.
I wipe my eyes and then we get back to pumpkin carving.
I explain each step to him as I do it on mine, and he then follows along on his own.
We carve all the large pumpkins and then, at his insistence, even the small ones and the gourds.
He’s obsessed, to put it mildly. And surprisingly good at carving pumpkins.
When we finally run out of things to carve, I get everything cleaned up while he fusses over the display, arranging and rearranging the pumpkins until he’s finally satisfied. I just sit and watch him, smiling that he seems to love Halloween just as much as I do.
I give it a once over, and honestly, I’m impressed with our work. We started with simple classic jack-o’-lantern faces but soon he was carving intricate patterns and even made one that had “BJ hearts Tori.”
He sits back on his heels, and then points at the pumpkins.
“I agree, they look great,” I say.
But he shakes his head and then doesn’t just point at them, but pokes his finger through to the inside, looking at me expectantly.
“Yeah, we took out their guts,” I reply, a little confused.
When he turns his eyes to small flames while keeping his finger inside the pumpkin, I realize what he wants.
“Oh, you want me to put candles in them,” I say, and he nods enthusiastically.
Once I have a candle in all the ones that will fit them, he crosses his arms and nods, as if now he is satisfied this is up to his standards.
By the time we are done, night is falling and my stomach growls loudly.
BJ looks at me in alarm and then points to my belly.
I can’t help but laugh, then explain, “It’s okay, I’m just hungry. I’ll be right back.”
I wolf down some random snacks and make a mental note to order groceries so I don't have to run out to the store, and then get ready for bed.
When I get back to the tent, I find BJ sitting near the blanket and pillow nest patiently waiting. I snag my laptop and a beer, then settle back between his legs so he can see my screen. We spend the next few hours searching up new outfits and accessories for him as I sip on pumpkin porter.
“You’re going to need an awesome Halloween costume. Like epic,” I say.
He taps my shoulder and tilts his head at me.
“Me? I always dress up as a photographer,” I say with a shrug.
He wags a finger at me.
“You’re right, I do love Halloween. But I’m always so busy decorating and handing out candy that I never seem to get around to dressing up.”
He points at me, then himself, then back to the computer screen.
“Yes, we’re looking for a costume for you,” I say.
He shakes his head, points back and forth between us again and then back to the screen.
“Us?” I ask.
He nods.
“Costumes for us?” I clarify.
He nods emphatically, and his LED eyes morph into his smiling look.
My eyes sting with unshed tears. I wasn’t completely honest when I said I was too busy for a costume. I used to go all out. Full make up, complete accessories. Once I picked a costume, I committed.
And then I got married, and the comments started.
How I was wasting so much money on something so stupid.
How I was picking costumes that were too revealing and not right for my body type.
And finally, when I hit my mid-thirties, how I was getting too old to dress up.
When I hit forty, my ex had finally broken me down with his assessing looks and snide comments, robbing me of any joy of dressing up—so, I stopped.
“Yeah,” I say from behind a watery smile. “I needed you, BJ. Let’s pick one together.”
We look through couples costumes, but I’m having trouble figuring out what could work for a twelve-foot skeleton and a woman. I’m scrolling when suddenly, a skeletal finger is excitedly tapping at the screen.
“Oh my gosh. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” I beam up at him, and his eyes glow with warmth. “It’s one of my favorite movies. Should we watch it?”
He nods enthusiastically, and I order the costumes, then start streaming the movie on the laptop. We both start by sitting upright, but by the time the main characters are kissing on top of Spiral Hill, we are hopelessly tangled.
From the corner of my eye, I see BJ look from the screen to me and back again.
He studies them, then me, and I wish he could tell me just what he is thinking. Then he reaches over, and closes the laptop lid with one long skeletal finger.
I smile and take it over to the table and plug it to one of the many extension cords for the night, and when I turn back to face him, he’s lying outstretched and has made a pile of pillows and blankets along his ribcage.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me at seeing his pose, one leg bent and one arm propped under his head. The stereotypical sexy guy waiting in bed pose.
“Well, hello big guy,” I say and shuck off my jeans. I wished I could have worn something sexier to bed but opted for warmth since I would be spending the night in the tent.
He looks me up and down, and although I’m in an oversized sweatshirt and knee high socks, he seems pleased with the end result as he pats the spot right next to him.
I smile and curl up facing him, surprised at just how cozy this is. My head is on one of the pillows he’s piled on top of his arm, and I curl my arms through his ribs, letting my fingers wrap around them.
He brings his legs up and spoons around me as much as his size allows, then reaches over and snags another beer from my stash and offers it to me.
“Sure, why not,” I say and sit up a little higher against the pillow to take a swig.
He caresses me with his free hand, toying with my hair, drifting it along my belly, and finally exploring my fuzzy socks. There is no judgment in his eyes, no analyzing. Just adoration. He seems fascinated by everything I say and do, and the interest is an aphrodisiac.
When I swig the last of the beer, he pulls the bottle from my hand and then watches my face as he starts gliding it down my belly.
When he trails it lower, I start to get a suspicion and let out a squeaky, “What are you doing?”
When he uses it to nudge my knees apart and then trails it up my thigh, a fine tremble runs through him.
“You did watch me!” I squeal, cheeks flushing as my suspicion is confirmed.
Shooting my eyes from the bottle he’s currently rubbing against my panties to meet his gaze, he winks at me.
“You naughty skeleton,” I say. “So, yes, I may have been a little desperate and used what I had at hand, but I’m thinking there’s something else I’d rather have touch me now.”
He stills and searches my face. I give him a shy smile, and he tosses the bottle away where it lands with a dull thud in the grass. He shifts up onto his elbow and grips the edge of my sweatshirt, tugging it up.
I help him slip it off and then lay back down against him.
His electronic pupils blow comically wide at my naked breasts, nipples peaking in the night air. It’s still comfortably warm in the heated tent, but without my sweatshirt I can feel Fall pressing in.
He reaches out and traces over my skin, ghosting just the tip of his bony finger over the swell of each breast. With each stroke of my skin, his confidence builds, and soon he covers my body with his large hands, learning every dip and swell.
“Yes, BJ, this is what I was imagining when you watched me,” I whisper.
His eyes flash when I let out a breathy moan as he becomes fascinated with my nipples and he spends long minutes learning what I respond to the most. When my hips move, seeking his touch, his eyes snap down to them and go darker.
He slides his enormous hand down my belly, scraping the tips of the bones along my flesh, and the sound of my breaths turning harsh fills the space.
When his fingertips ghost under my panties I moan and move to start shoving them off.
He presses down on my belly, restraining me, and gives me a slow shake of his head, no.