“I never slept well as a kid. And it got worse as an adult . . . prison kind of changes you.”
“Oh. Prison . . . right.” I peered into my mug to stare at the warm milk.
“Does it bother you when I bring it up?”
I shook my head. “No. It . . . no.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes. But it does kind of throw me for a loop every time because I keep forgetting.”
“So you sitting in the dark on the floor of the bathroom had nothing to do with me being asleep in your bed?”
“Nothing,” I assured him.
“Not sure I believe you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you laid down with me, but you didn’t fall asleep. Do you not feel safe around me?”
“That’s not it at all.”
“No? It’s the logical conclusion.”
“We slept in the same bed at The Regal Beagle,” I pointed out. “Why would now be any different?”
He shrugged. “Because itisdifferent.”
“I . . . I’ve never—I like having you here,” I stammered. “It’s just new for me. I’m just not used to sharing my bed with someone so . . .big.”
So big. So warm. So delicious.
I swallowed a huge gulp of the warm milk.
Its soporific effects were already doing the trick.
“We need to get you a kitchen table,” he murmured, his golden eyes watching me.
They looked liquid.
Dangerous.
“Table,” I repeated stupidly.
“Can’t keep cooking you meals and eating them standing. That’s just ridiculous.”
“Dinner was good,” I said with a slight smile. “Kind of impressive, actually.”
“Chicken and vegetables aren’t impressive.”
“You made it taste good,” I stated. “That’s what was impressive.”
A slow smile crept across his lips. “I impressed you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll impress you again tomorrow night.”
