He murmurs, “Uh oh, I think we’ve stolen the thunder from the bride.”
10
After saying goodnight to Cassie and Caleb, they trip back to their room at three in the morning, a little drunk.
She’s giggling, trying not to get her heels twisted around one another. He’s laughing. His skin is flushed and he’s obviously high on alcohol.
She inserts their old-fashioned key in the lock. He leans against the corridor wall and lights a cigarette.
“Why do you that?” she asks. “Smoking is so bad for you.”
He inhales deeply and lets out a cloud of smoke. “And here I thought we were getting along so well together.”
“It’s just a comment.”
“They’re just my lungs,” he deadpans.
She pushes open the door, suddenly self-conscious. They are alone again. In a room with a bed.
He strides in and stubs the cigarette in an ashtray on the table. He starts tearing off his clothes in a completely oblivious way, not even looking at her as he throws his jacket, shirt, silk scarf and belt on the bed. He wrenches off his shoes and socks.
She clears her throat.
“Excuse me, but I think we should discuss our sleeping arrangements.”
He turns to face her. He is dangerously handsome. His pants are unzipped and his thatch of pubic hair sprouts from his crotch.
He says, “It’s easy. There’s nothing to discuss. I’ll take the bed and you’ll take the couch.”
“There isn’t any couch.”
“Tough. Then you’ll just have to share a bed with me.”
Even though his words carry a seductive languor, his demeanor towards her is not sexual. He is merely undressing himself as he would any other day in his apartment when he’s alone. Before she can say anything, he drops his pants. His penis is semi-hard. He flashes her a grin as he turns to walk towards the bathroom. He has a deeply sexual swagger to him.
She understands now that he is not putting on a show just for her. His sexuality is as much part of his genetic makeup as his cockiness and extreme self-confidence.
When he comes back, naked, she has already changed into her nightgown. Before this trip, she and Cassie had gone shopping.
“You’re going to make him sleep on the floor without a pillow,” Cassie said gleefully.
“I can’t do that. That’s mean.”
“That’s your trouble, Sam. You don’t know how to play bully. Just think of all the things he did to you in middle school, and comeuppance will come naturally.”
Sam doubts it. She fingers a pretty black silk nightgown – bordered with lace.
“Oh, that’s a nice one. The idea is to tempt him, make him hard, and then shove him away to let him painfully sleep on the floor.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get him hard for me. We don’t even like each other. Besides, that’s not the point of the whole weekend.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but these are fringe benefits. Play the coy seductive, torment him to distraction, then pull away at the last minute.”
Sam doesn’t think she can ever do that. She’d probably snag the lace nightgown on some hook and tear it to shreds before she can get sexy.
And now she’s wearing that very nightgown. Not that he can see it, because she has consciously covered herself up to the neck with the blanket. Only the table lamps are on, and the entire room has taken on a cozy, romantic hue which is only too apparent.
“Move over,” he says, his knee treading the mattress.
“No. I’d really like you to sleep on the floor.”
“After all the tonsil tennis we shared?” He scoots into the bed and lifts up the blanket, which she clutches all the more tightly to her chest. “Relax, I’m not going to touch you with a ten foot pole, although mine is more like ten inches, give or take a few.”
She wonders how he can be so cavalier about his nudity. She makes room for him by displacing herself to the edge of the bed. If she rolled to her left, she would fall off and land on the floor with a thud.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says, twisting his body so that his back is to her. Within seconds, she hears his breathing grow deeper.
Damn him, but he is soundly asleep.
How is she expected to sleep now, cramped up like this?
She switches off her lamp. She is very aware of his warmth permeating the air space under their shared blanket. She can imagine Cassie asking her in the morning, “So, did you make him sleep on the floor?”
‘Uh … no.”
“What? You mean you slept with him?”
“Not exactly. He muscled his way onto the bed and promptly fell asleep.”
“With you beside him? And he wasn’t even tempted to … you know … grope you?”