Flexing my couch-back hand was doing nothing to wake it up. I had to move my arm, and there was only one way to do it without waking up the slumbering co-host nooking into my side.
I slid my arm around her shoulders and once again, she surprised me by tucking herself a little deeper into my chest. On autopilot, I dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.
Not on autopilot, my hand was tingling back to life and it took pretty much everything I had to not touch her with it. My fingertips itched to drag down her arm, maybe settle at the side of her breast, and just the thought of doing it had me sprouting the second boner of my evening, and at least the fourth one of the day.
Fantastic.
When the movie ended, I eased out enough to twist and slide a hand behind her knees and tighten the arm slung around her shoulders. I carried her in to bed, managing to tug enough of the covers over her so she wouldn’t get cold.
Jensen was a hard sleeper—she barely stirred. Until, riding on impulse and a little too much beer, I brushed the hair back from her forehead and grazed a light kiss over the skin there.
She sighed and mumbled what sounded like, “Night, sweetie.”
I don’t know how long I leaned in the doorframe, watching her sleep.
***
Wednesday morning was a little easier. Jensen woke up on her own, and was already in the shower when my alarm went off. I put the dogs out through the kitchen door while I got the coffee on, not giving a second thought to walking around the house in my underwear. She was down the hall in the bathroom. Me and my morning wood were safe.
Remember that saying about assumptions?
I was lingering in the kitchen, listening for Lita or Angus to scratch to come in, and I guess the sound of Mr. Coffee was too loud for me to hear the shower turn off. And for me to hear when Jensen opened the bathroom door.
Tired of waiting on the dogs, I opened the back door and shouted their names. This was, of course, the moment Jensen decided to come into the kitchen, calling out, “Good morning, Ta—oh! Sorry.”
The dogs chased each other through the kitchen into the living room. I turned around when I was sure they were gone. Jensen was anything but sorry, I must say. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, just standing there staring with her lips in a little O.
She was wrapped in a fuzzy white robe, her hair damp and heading every which-way on her head, her skin still pink from the shower.
I watched her eyes travel down my body, coming to rest south of my belly button. And I won’t say somewhere south, either, because I knew exactly where she was staring. I could feel her gaze like a caress. Tack Jr. gave a little hitch, enjoying the attention, even if it was from afar, and I saw her eyes widen.
I couldn’t stop the smirk. “You keep staring like that and he’s gonna wave at you again.”
Her lips may have said, “Don’t flatter yourself,” but the dark blush on her cheeks told an entirely different story.
Before she could turn and leave, I sauntered past her through the doorway and walked down the hall to my own—cold—shower.
By the time I got out, Jen seemed to have recovered, although, even through our entire show, she looked anywhere but my eyes, and the blush hadn’t left her cheeks.
Good. There was no sense in just one of us suffering here.
I had the damn counselor that afternoon, and hanging out at home with Jen, in my estimation, would have only served to make talking harder. I opted to go straight to the gym after we finished our timeslot. I was antsy and edgy and determined to sweat myself into a coma, because the rising energy between Jensen and I desperately needed an outlet.
Besides, she had a shiny new key and could look after herself.
I did my usual circuit of weights, trimming a few reps off the usual, since I hadn’t been in in over a week. I reserved punishing myself for the treadmill. I selected the same program that had tried to rip my knee off, stuffed buds in my ears to turn away anyone who wanted to chat (including Tessa—I found myself strangely uninterested now), and did the whole cycle without hurting myself. Then I set it up and did it again, stopping a few minutes short of the full forty-five minute program when my thighs started screaming and begging me to stop. My clothes were drenched, sweat dripped from my hair, and I’d managed to burn all thoughts of sex from my head(s).
As insurance, I took the coldest shower possible in the locker room.
I arrived at the counselor’s office a little early. I wasn’t trying to impress Dr. Cheska, I was simply done at the gym and didn’t want to hang out. Tessa kept staring, and it was making me uncomfortable.
Hmm. I made a mental note to bring that up during my session, to show the good doc that her words were sinking in.