Page 41 of Brood
I close my eyes as the first notes play, and I listen for several minutes. Will certainly will want to have sex this evening. I can wait.
I don’t mean to go to sleep, but I do.
* * *
I’m not sure what wakes me up, but something does. I blink several times and lift my head to peer around groggily.
Will is standing under the archway into the bedroom, buttoning up a clean white shirt.
His hair is damp. The scent of soap wafts toward me. He must have come in to shower and change clothes while I was sleeping obliviously.
“Hi,” I say, smiling at him and trying to shake the sleep out of my head.
“Hi.”
“I accidently fell asleep.”
“I saw that.” His brown eyes, even from this distance, are visibly relaxed. Amused. “I was trying to get in and out without waking you up.”
“Oh. I needed to be woken up.” I sit up, smoothing down my messy braid and dropping my feet to the floor. “What time is it?”
“Not even three yet. You’ve got plenty of time before your shift.”
“Oh. Good.”
We stare at each other for a minute.
“How long until you need to be back?” I finally ask.
“I’ve got an hour too.”
“Oh. Good.”
His mouth twitches up irresistibly.
The music I fell asleep to was soft and soothing, but it’s moved on to a different piece in the orchestral suite. This one is lively. Energetic. It seems to match the way my pulse points start to throb.
“Did you want to do something to fill up our free hour?” he asks, his voice thickening in that way it does in the bedroom.
Heat washes over me. “You just put your clothes on.”
“That’s not a deterrent.” His fingers are poised on the top button of his shirt. “I can take them off.”
I sit on the lounge motionless. Wait to see what he’ll do.
His head tilts to one side. “What is it?”
“You said you could take your clothes back off, so I’m waiting to see if you will.”
With a broadening smile, he walks toward me, unfastening one button and then another until his shirt is hanging open. He lets it slide down his shoulders and withdraws one hand, swinging the shirt with his other in circles timed with the music.
Then, without warning, he tosses it across the distance into the bedroom.
I giggle and straighten, oddly thrilled by the gesture and his expression.
He must see my appreciation because he starts working on the trousers, unfastening them and then letting them drop slowly down his legs. He steps out of one side and then brings his foot up so he can deftly catch the pants with one hand.
I’m laughing helplessly as he swings the trousers in the same rhythmic circles. I clap when they land right on top of his shirt on the floor of the bedroom.
