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My eyes widen slightly. Then he’s moving, shifting his weight above. I gasp. No talking, no thinking, just feeling, as he proves his point: The second time is even better.
Right before I drift off to sleep, I have a realization.
I’m not surviving anymore.
Finally, I’m thriving.
—
I BOLT AWAKE. I REGISTER a foreign weight on the bed, an intruder in the room. Instinctively, I lash out. Thumbs, elbows, knees. Women might not be as strong as men, but there are ways we can still do damage.
“Shit! Flora, Flora, it’s me!”
A hand grabs my arm. I roll into the hold, inside my attacker’s strike zone, where I can gouge my thumb into eyeballs.
“Flora, wake up!”
I’m naked. He’s naked. Both of his hands clasp my arms. I should, I should... Keith. I had sex with Keith. I fell asleep with Keith. I am with Keith. Dear God, what have I done?
As fast as I attacked, now I retreat, yanking my arms free, spinning away.
“Stop!”
A bedside lamp snaps on. Keith’s features emerge. “Flora Dane, don’t move another inch.”
I glare at him. “You sound like my mother.”
“Really? You attack your mother in the middle of the night, too?”
“A couple of times. It’s not safe to wake me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then it’s not safe to sleep with me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t?” Now I scowl. “I was asleep.”
“I know. And you’re ridiculously cute when you sleep. But I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking.”
“You’re always thinking!”
“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Come back. Relax. You promise not to kill me, and I promise to tell you what I’ve been thinking.”
I blink my eyes, unsure. Really, this whole situation is mortifying. Leave it to me not to be awkward the morning after, but homicidal. Yet Keith appears completely unruffled. He sits up against the headboard, then holds out his arm expectantly, wiggling his fingers in silent command.
I ease back toward him. He wiggles his fingers more. I slowly take up position beside him, bare skin to bare skin. He sighs, rather happily, I think.
“For a serial killer, you sure are nice,” I grumble.
“You really think I’m a serial killer?”
“You look like Ted Bundy and you’re obsessed with crime.”
“Oh. When you put it that way...”
We both fall silent. “We’re going to have to work on the sleeping arrangement,” he says at last. “One more inch with that knee of yours, and this whole new excellent adventure would’ve been over before we even had a chance.”
