Page 106 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“You should sleep here.”

I looked toward the hallway.

“Malik is home.”

“He knows you’re here.”

“That isn’t the same as waking up and finding me here.”

“He looks for you every time the doorbell rings.” Frankie leaned against the counter. “You aren’t a stranger spending the night in my house.”

I stood and crossed the kitchen. Her hands rested against my chest when I stopped in front of her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I touched her cheek. “Thank you.”

Her mouth curved. “You’re thanking me before you see where I expect you to sleep.”

I waited.

“My bed,” she said. “You’re too tall for the sofa.”

I bent and kissed her. Her arms slid around my neck as her lips opened beneath mine. She tasted faintly of wine and vanilla frosting. I drew her closer, letting the warmth of her body press through the fatigue that had settled into mine. Desire stirred, but exhaustion sat deeper. Frankie felt the difference. She softened the kiss and stroked the back of my neck.

“Come on.”

She turned off the kitchen lights and led me down the hallway. Malik’s door stood open several inches. Frankie paused and looked inside. I stopped behind her. A nightlight cast a soft blue glow across the room. Malik slept on his back with his face turned toward the doorway. Spider-Man rested near his pillow, one plastic arm trapped beneath his hand. His breathing was slow and even. Frankie watched him for a few seconds before continuing to her bedroom.

I had been inside the room before, but never at night. A lamp glowed beside the bed. The scent of Frankie’s body oil lingered in the air. Photographs of Malik covered the dresser beside small bottles of perfume and a shallow dish filled with jewelry. She opened a drawer and removed a T-shirt.

“You left this here.”

I recognized it from the night I helped her assemble shelving in the home studio. She had washed and folded it.

I accepted the shirt. “Thank you.”

“I knew you’d need it eventually.”

Frankie went into the bathroom while I undressed. When she returned, she'd replaced the robe with a satin nightgown that followed the curves of her body. She pulled back the covers, and I slid into bed beside her. Frankie turned off the lamp and moved close, fitting herself against my side. Her cheek settled over my heart, and I wrapped my arm around her.

The position reminded me of the first morning she woke in my bed. Everything was new then. Wanting her had felt simple because I hadn’t yet understood how many parts of her life I would come to want. Now Malik slept down the hallway. A framed photograph of him and Frankie stood on the nightstand. Her robe hung over a chair. My shoes were beside hers near the bedroom door.

I entered her life far enough to understand what losing my place in it would cost.

“I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving,” she whispered.

My fingers moved along her back. “What about it?”

“I want to go to your father’s house.”

I looked down at her, though the darkness hid most of her face.

“With Malik?”

“Yes.”