Page 56 of Again with Feeling

When we got home, it was the small hours of the morning. We walked through the house in the dark. Our steps whispered on the heirloom rugs. I paused at the top of the landing—to say good night, I guess. (Okay, I was hoping for a goodnight kiss at theminimum.) Bobby surprised me by putting a hand at the small of my back and guiding me into my room. He shut the door behind him, and then his hand found the small of my back again, and he walked me to the bed.

I opened my mouth.

“No monkey business,” he said before I had a chance to ask what was happening. His voice almost sounded back to normal, and there was even a hint of playfulness. Then he hesitated and said, “I want to be near you tonight. Please?”

Well, how was I supposed to say no to that?

By the light of a single lamp, we changed into sleep shorts and tees. It was different, now, getting to appreciate those glimpses of Bobby without a shirt—the defined chest, the strong arms, the wide shoulders. And, of course, it’s hard not to appreciate a gentleman who knows how to fill out a white tee and a pair of mesh shorts.

“Unh-uh,” he said when he caught me looking. He nudged me toward the canopy bed. “I told you: no funny stuff.”

“We’re adults.”

He made ammmnoise that suggested this was up for debate.

“Nobody would know,” I tried.

Bobby gave me a look that reminded me—pointedly—of the Deputy Bobby I had first met.

“It gets pretty hot in here sometimes,” I said. “You should probably take that shirt off.”

He put his hand over my mouth, which was good because I couldn’t stop laughing. When I did, though, he peeled his fingers away, kissed me, and looked at me for what felt like a long time, his expression earnest and searching and serious, before he finally said, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered.

It had been a long time since someone had touched me. And—not trying to take a dig at the previous men in my life—it was sodifferentwith Bobby. There were so many other emotions, deeper emotions, layered into the experience. Which is one way of explaining that even though I was exhausted, I was sure I’d never sleep. My, er, situation didn’t improve when Bobby rolled onto his side, pulled me against him, and proved, immediately and without any trace of doubt, that he was the single best big spoon in the history of the world. His breath felt good on my neck. I liked the faint rasp of a day’s worth of stubble when he repositioned his head. His arm was solid, draped over me. My tee had ridden up, and his thumb scratched pleasantly at my bare stomach.

Look, I wasnevergoing to get to sleep.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Bobby said.

“Oh good,” I said, “because Idefinitelywant to.” His slight pause made me realize I’d misread the meaning of his sentence. “Uh, I mean, go on.”

“I want to…talk.” He took a deep breath. “To tell you.” His silence lasted longer this time, broken by those deep breaths that made me think of the movement of the sea. “God, why is this so hard?”

I rubbed his arm. “There’s been a lot going on the last few days. Talking about that kind of stuff is already scary and hard because we’re making ourselves vulnerable.”

“It didn’t seem hard for you.”

“I was in a weird headspace. And things have been extra stressful the last few days—Arlen did try to kill me twice, so they’ve definitely been stressful for me.”

“When I saw the Jeep at the bottom of that hill, I thought—” His voice frayed until he couldn’t go on. When he spoke again, the words were wire thin. “I wanted to tell you. Right then. I thought about what could have happened to you, and I knew I needed to tell you. And as soon as I opened my mouth—”

A second passed. And then another. I said, “Panic attack?”

He nodded into my shoulder.

I made shushing sounds and rubbed his arm some more.

“And then tonight, you were being so brave.” His voice still had that brittle tension. “I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you, because I knew how hard that was for you. I wanted to tell you—” But he stopped again. He was vibrating against me, in the throes of those warring emotions.

I shushed him again and said, “I know, Bobby. You don’t have to tell me. You definitely better not tell me tonight, or that prohibition on monkey business is going right out the window.”

His laugh was wet and unsteady.

I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed his knuckles. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but he kissed the back of my neck, andlet me tell you, after that, it was official. I wasn’t going to get any sleep. Probably ever. I was going to die like this.

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