Page 70 of If Only In Our Dreams

He took his glass out of my hand with a happy hum, his sweet fuzzy head snuggled up against my shoulder. He was the perfect size to fit snug against my side, his socked toes brushing my ankle as he nursed his glass with both hands like he was holding a mug of cocoa, not a wine glass.

“Neat party trick,” he agreed, voice echoing inside the glass. He took a long sip, made a face like he was expecting it to taste bad, then relaxed. “Oh.” He was obviously surprised.

“You like your coffee sweet, I figured you’d like your wine sweet too,” I replied by way of explanation.

“You figured right, big man.” Robin took another sip, longer this time. He held himself very still, rigid against me. I didn’t tryto force him to relax. I figured this was like coaxing a wild animal close. Slow and steady was the way to go.

“So,” Robin said, at the same time I took a sip from my own glass. I hummed in reply, biting back a grin when I felt him finally relax. His body grew pliant, the hard line of his broad shoulders, marshmallow soft. “How’s your next book going?”

It was an out-of-pocket question, but I appreciated it all the same.

Not many knew who I was or what I wrote, and Robin and I had bonded the first time we’d met over our mutual appreciation for each other’s art.

“My deadline is two weeks before Christmas,” I hummed.

“But that’s so soon!” Robin’s eyes went wide. “How close are you?” He frowned. “Not that I know much about that stuff, but you have to be at least…kinda close, right?”

I hummed thoughtfully to soothe him. “I’ve got a few days off after Thanksgiving. I’ll finish then.”

“You’re evading the question.” Robin’s eyes narrowed at me, these grumpy little slits.

He was correct, Iwasevading the question.

Truth be told, I’d been spending all my free time with him lately. There hadn’t been much time to write. I would figure it out though, I always did. And the last thing I wanted was to make him feel guilty. I’d had enough distance this week, thank you very much. “I’m on schedule,” I told him, using the arm behind his back to gently tweak his ear. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Someone should,” he snarked back, cheeks pinking up. I tugged his ear harder and he laughed.

“Is that your way of saying I’m incapable of taking care of myself?” I teased, thumb stroking along the fuzzy soft velvet of the shell of his ear. He’d taken his piercings out today aside from one at the top. I was careful not to tug for fear of hurting him.

“That’s my way of calling you a lonely-ass loner,” Robin replied.

That was something we had in common.

The loneliness.

He didn’t really know me. He couldn’t. We’d only just met. But his declaration was close enough to the truth that I didn’t deny it. “I have a hard time with people,” I explained instead of reacting. “My best friend lives in L.A. Aside from her, the only people I spend time and energy on are my family.”

And you,I added, privately.

“I feel that.” Robin nodded sagely. He bit his lip, his piercing clinking. “What about your kids’ mom?” he asked, and then flinched like he’d done something particularly horrendous.

“The girls’ mother is also my best friend that lives in L.A.,” I hummed, continuing to stroke his ear. I took a sip of wine to give my mouth something to do, even though I wanted to set the glass on the table and taste something far more tantalizing.

“Handy.”

“Mhm,” I agreed, watching Robin’s mouth. It was a lovely mouth. Soft and pink. Expressive. I bet he kissed the way he did most things, voraciously and with little thought. Hunger curled hot, low in my belly. “We made a pact that if we both weren’t married by the time I finished medical school we’d have kids together.”

“Does she like kids?” Robin asked, curious.

“She does,” I agreed. “Though she’s always been more of an…eccentric aunt than a mother. The girls adore her, despite this.”

“That’s how I am with Bubba,” Robin hummed. “Except I’m his uncle, not his aunt.” His skin paled when he realized what he’d revealed, and he glanced at me through his lashes, a sad, sheepish expression on his face. I kept quiet, because I knew him well enough now to realize if I did he’d continue to speak. “He’s my kid,” Robin explained. “Biologically, I mean.”

That did not surprise me.

Bubba looked exactly like him, down to the freckles and the swoop of both their button noses.

“Yeah?” I stroked Robin’s ear again and he shuddered, lashes fluttering.

---