Page 36 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“It’s all they had.”
“I like it.”
“Oh,” I murmur.
Why did I just vow to only buy hair products that smell like apples from now on?
“Sleep okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, and as I do it, I realize I’m still pressed to his chest.
Which has me going stiff again.
But his finger keep twirling, and he doesn’t unwrap his other arm. “You’re quieter in the morning.”
I’m quiet most of the time.
I just…last night was an anomaly.
Like the universe had turned upside down and I was a different person. But today the sun is shining through the windows and I’m…me.
And Gray is…Gray.
“You heard what the doctor said?” he asks, still softly.
“Yes,” I say quietly, pushing lightly against his chest. The question reminding me where I am and what I’m doing and what’s destined to happen.
He doesn’t budge.
“Which means you heard what I said.”
Not a question.
It doesn’t matter, though.
The words are ringing through my head.
We’ll have her covered.
First, who’s we?
Second…what the heck does he mean by covered?
Because I know it definitely can’t be something like what I’d write in one of my books, can’t be what that secret place in my heart wants, can’t mean what it sounds like.
I push at his chest again.
Spoiler alert: he still doesn’t move.
“Gray,” I protest softly.
He releases the strand of my hair, and even as disappointment is coursing through me because he’s not twirling it any longer, my breath squeezes out of my lungs.
Because he’s sliding his hand up, cupping my jaw, diving his fingers into my hair and murmuring, “I like the sound of my name on your lips, Red.”
“I—” But that’s as far as I get.
Mostly because I don’t know what to say to that.
