I lay back down and moments later hear her as she crawls in the bed. Then shifts. Then groans. Then shifts again. “Fucking ribs and back and hands,” she mumbles. She ends up on her side facing me. I look over at her, the moonlight casting a glow across the room. I frown; she really does look uncomfortable.
Knowing I’ll never get any sleep as long as she keeps wiggling, I flip to my back. “Come here,” I command, but my voice is off. It sounds like a tone I’d use when I wanted to do more to her than hold her.
She just stares at me, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. Moving closer to her, I wrap my arm around her shoulders until her head is on my chest. Grabbing her knee, I pull it across my legs. She shifts slightly until half of her body is laying on mine. It doesn’t take her long to relax further into me.
“Better?” Yes.
“Mmm.” And moments later, she’s asleep.
* * *
“You can’t do it like that,” Diem tells me the next evening, from her very comfortable position on the porch. Meanwhile, I’m in the yard cutting back the hedges that have nearly overtaken the front of my house. I thought it would be better than being locked inside with her. I was wrong. She was just as annoying outside.
“Why don’t you get your ass down here and do it?” I ask, leaning over to glare at her—sipping her fucking lemonade like a queen.
“Well, I would, but I’m not quite ready for manual labor, boss.”
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” She doesn’t answer, and I’m glad for the break from her nagging.
“You should get a dog.”
“I already have one mutt around here. No need for another one.” I’m sure she’s giving me the finger, but she should have known better than to say some shit like that.
“I cannot wait to get the hell away from here,” she mumbles. Like she’s some kind of prisoner.
I stab the trimmers in the ground, then walk over and snatch the lemonade out of her hand. “Nothing between you and anywhere but here except air and opportunity.”
She gives me a disgusted look as she eyes the glass in my hand. Then she smiles. “Why, when I could stay here and make your life miserable too?”
“You’re doing a good fucking job at that.” I light a smoke, fighting the urge to stab her in the eye with it.
“Whatever. Admit it. You like having me around.”
I laugh. “Yeah, about as much as I like being told what to do. And what not to do. And how to eat, sleep, sit, and trim hedges. You can’t leave soon enough in my eyes, sweetheart.”
Her lips curl into a snarl at my words. “Stop it with the pet names. They weird me out.”
Handing her back the now-empty glass, I shoot her a wink. “Whatever you say, pretty girl.” As I get back to my yard work, I realize that not once had she asked me not to call her that.
Diem cooks again and it’s just as bad tonight as it was last night. It’s some kind of casserole that has the consistency of Jell-O and tastes like cardboard. I manage to eat three bites before I make a sandwich. The next meal we share will be pizza.
Per my usual ritual, I’m sitting in my recliner watching the Western Channel waiting for my eyes to get heavy enough to sleep. Since Diem has been here, I haven’t had a problem falling asleep at night as long as she is in bed with me. I don’t dwell on it though. The thought of me feeling safe around her makes me feel like a pussy.
“Move over,” she says, already acting like she’s fixing to sit in the chair with me.
“What? No. Get your ass on the couch. This is a one-person chair. Tonight and every other night, that one person is me.” She ignores me, easing her ass down on the arm of the recliner and leaning against my shoulder. In her hands she holds a big bowl. “What’s that?”
“This? This is a one-person bowl of ice cream,” she says, giving me a sardonic smile.
“Is there any more?”
“Nope,” she answers shortly, keeping her eyes on the TV.
“Give me a bite.” I’m practically whining.
“Move over.”
Letting out a loud breath, I pull out the recliner, noticing her pleased smile as I do. Smart-ass thinks she knows everything. Sliding over, I give her an inch of space that she manages to wiggle her little ass in.
“Now give me a bite.” She passes the bowl over, already absorbed in the show. I look down, and there’s a fourth of a spoonful left. Just enough to piss me off.
“Go fix us some more,” she demands.
I close my eyes, trying to calm down the beast inside me that begs to bite her face off. “You said there wasn’t any more,” I grit through my teeth.