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"Climb in?" I repeated dumbly, half-expecting him to grab me and finish what we started earlier.
"Yeah, baby, climb in. We're sleeping, remember?"
Yeah, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be sleeping. But I moved beside him and climbed in, settling against the pillows as Paine turned, snagged the blankets, and pulled them up over both our bodies. He settled back then slid an arm under my neck, curling it and pulling me toward him until I was nestled into his side. Uncomfortable, I pressed up and moved to rest my cheek on his chest. His arm curled tighter around me as I settled in. My hand went up to the other side of his chest, my finger tracing over the large, bold '3' tattooed onto his pectoral.
"You live through the first year, you have to get the gang ink," he explained.
"You haven't covered it."
Beneath me, he shrugged. "It's a part of me. Covering up the mark on my skin doesn't make those years I spent disappear. It was a huge chunk of my life. I'm not gonna lie about it or pretend it didn't happen. Now sleep, baby," he said, his voice going soft and my belly did a flip-flop I tried to ignore.
It had been a long while since I fell asleep with a man. I forgot how nice it was to feel a firm body beneath yours and a strong arm around you, anchoring you to him like he didn't want you to accidentally slip away, to hear a heartbeat under your ear.
It was soothing.
Within minutes, I was out.ElevenElsieI woke up tucked in tight with blankets, slightly disoriented until the events of the night before came into focus. Confused, I shot up in bed. First, checking the clock to make sure I wasn't late for work. I had an hour and a half still. Second, looking around to see if Paine's clothes were still on the floor like he had gone down for coffee or something. Even his shoes were gone.
I squelched the unexpected twinge of disappointment, grabbed work clothes, and headed into the bathroom to shower. Forty minutes later, I was in steel gray slacks, black heels, and a black lightweight sweater. My hair was dry, my makeup done. I grabbed a black, gray, and white swirled scarf and tied it around my neck then went downstairs to head out early. There was no reason to sit around my house for a half an hour over-thinking what it meant that Paine sneaked out in the middle of the night or early morning.
I already had those thoughts on my mind all through my shower and prepping and, well, let's just say it wasn't helping my sour mood any.
My feet hit the bottom landing before I heard it, too consumed with my own depressive inner monologue to notice it before. There was clanging and the low, throbbing bass beat of hip hop music coming from my kitchen. I didn't realize I was smiling until my cheeks started to hurt. Cursing myself and making the smile fall, I moved through my dining room and into my kitchen to find Paine, changed, standing in front of my stove and pouring something into a pan, something I definitely did not have in my house the night before.
"Did you go shopping?" I asked, making Paine's head swivel toward me, doing a slow inspection as if there was anything sexy about my work attire, landing for a second on my neck.
"Come here, babygirl," he said, turning from the stove and going toward a small bag sitting on my island.
"Why?" I asked, already moving further into the room.
"Here," he said when I got close, reaching out for my scarf, untying it, and pulling it off. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small tube of something skin-colored, holding it up. "Sell this at the shop. It covers tattoos. It should work on your bruises," he said, twisting off the cap. "Pull your hair up for me," he said, squeezing some of the makeup onto his hands and reaching out toward me.
Yeah and then he totally rubbed makeup all over my neck. Incredibly gently, I might add. Finished, he inspected it for a second, squinting his eyes. "Did it cover?"
"I know it's there so I can make it out the tiniest bit, but I don't think anyone else will see. Especially if you throw a necklace on to distract them," he added as he went to the sink to wash his hands. "Baby, do me a favor and flip those pancakes."
I looked over at the stove dubiously. "You do know who you're talking to, right? I didn't even know I had to remove that plastic stuff."
"Spatula, scoop, flip, drop. I have faith in you."
Well, when he put it that way, it seemed like a seven year-old could do it. I flipped the pancakes, revealing the perfect golden side that made my belly growl. "You can cook," I commented, looking down at the circles.
