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"You're the worst, you know?"
"That's not what you were saying earlier."
"Can you two knock it off? I'm going to barf," Oakley grunts, his gaze pinballing between Gracie and me and Ava by the T.V.
"Oh, I think it's adorable," Anne gushes, sighing contently with her hands clasped in front of her. The happiness in her wrinkled, tired features makes my own chest feel all warm and fuzzy. Anne Hutton may not be my blood, but she's been more of a mother figure to me than mine has been. Seeing her so happy is all I want for the woman who fed me on every holiday until my pants didn’t fit over my gut and washed my laundry when she noticed I was wearing the same dirty clothes for three days in a row.
"Thank you!" Gracie turns back around and throws her hands up in appreciation of her mom.
In her own world, Ava shouts, "Got it!" while quickly slipping the disk into the player and running back towards Oakley.
"You watching too, Ma?" Oakley asks when the opening trailers start playing on the flat-screen hung between black-framed photos, all of which hold a picture of the Hutton family throughout the years.
"No, no. I have a new book calling my name. You guys have fun, though. Call me if you need anything." All four of us nod in agreement before she leaves the room, still smiling warm enough to comfort the most broken of men.
I can't help but grunt in disapproval when Gracie gets up from my lap and crosses the room. She stops in front of a pile of blankets shoved inside a brown wicker basket and begins digging through them.
"Jesus, dude," Oakley chuckles, shaking his head. I flip him the finger, keeping my eyes on Gracie as she grabs the fluffiest blanket, grips it right in two fists, and rushes back over to me. When she stops short, mere inches from moving between my open legs, I tilt my head with a silent question.
"Lay down," she orders while moving her hand in the air, down the length of the couch.
With a grin, I nod once. "Yes, ma'am."
I push myself down the couch and shove a small decorative pillow behind my head and lay on my side, pushed against the back cushion. With my brows raised, I drop my eyes to the empty space in front of me. She doesn't hesitate before joining me and throwing the beige blanket over our legs. She lays down and pushes herself back until our bodies are flush again and rests her head beside mine on the tiny throw pillow. I can smell the fruity smell of her shampoo–the same one she's used for at least the past year–as her hair sprawls across the pillow and tickles my nose.
"You good, princess?"
"Will be when you wrap your arm around me," she mumbles, and I would bet a hundred bucks she's grinning in the dark. The thought makes me aware of the smile I'm currently wearing, too. I'm suddenly remarkably grateful Oakley and Ava are lost in their old world again, whispering to each other under the T.V light.
I pull the blankets up to our necks, reach under with my free arm and grab her waist with a tight grip. I relax my shoulders and run my fingers along her side, loving how my touch affects her when goosebumps cover the skin. The steady rise and fall of my chest falls in sync with Gracie's, and by the time I find myself staring at the television, the movie has already started.
The movie is long over by the time I manage to peel my eyes open again. When I look around the room, I spot Oakley and Ava curled up together, fast asleep on the long, three-seater couch across the room, making me feel less guilty about the fact I also fell asleep. Somehow they've maneuvered themselves so that Oakley is lying on his back, with Ava now covering his body with hers. Her leg hangs off the side of the couch andOakley's head is hanging off the arm of the couch, neck looking like it might just snap in half. It's quite a sight, and one that I wish I could grab my phone and snake a picture of.
Gracie’s put my arm to sleep as she continues to lay utterly dead to the world against me. She's never been much of an active sleeper when it comes to sleeping beside me. I swear someone could shoot off fireworks standing no more than a foot from her and she wouldn't so much as stir. But as much as I would love to sleep on the couch tonight and wake up with the same kind of pain in my neck that Oakley will, there is a perfectly comfortable bed waiting for the both of us upstairs.
After shaking Gracie a few times–only to be rewarded with nothing but a subtle snore–I throw my head back with a groan. I decide to carry her instead, and carefully move off of the couch. I tuck a hand under her thigh and upper back, and gently lift her up. She weighs nearly nothing, and I feel the urge to shove an extra-large deep-dish down her throat. Yeah, maybe not the best idea I've ever had. By the time I reach the carpeted staircase, she's placed her head in the curve of my neck, giving me the feeling she's been awake the entire time and just wanted a free ride.
"If you wanted me to carry you, all you had to do was ask," I whisper, my words barely audible as I attempt to see if I'm right. I feel her body tense just as a soft giggle meets my ears. "You're ridiculous."
"It's about time you used these muscles for good," she says in a hushed tone and runs a hand slowly down my bicep, squeezing the hard-earned muscles with a content sigh.
I push her old bedroom door open with my foot. Thankfully it wasn't fully shut. I stumble through the darkness, not wanting to bother turning the light on and blinding my eyes with the god-awful pink walls sixteen-year-old Gracie thought were the best idea ever. I gently set her on the bed and yank my shirt over my head, discarding it with my sweatpants in a pile by the door. A smirk falls on my lips as I look over to see her pull my hoodie off, exposing the solid abdominal muscles crafted beautifully from years of dancing as the material bunches up under her sports bra.
"Want some help?"
"No," she scoffs, her usual response whenever I offer to help with something she finds ridiculous, and throws the black hoodie across the room. She pushes her thin tank top down her exposed skin before settling under the blankets.
"That's a shame," I mutter as I crawl in after her, lying on my side and pulling her back against my front on instinct. When her tank top meets my chest, I simply groan, not liking the annoying barrier.
"You have got to be the horniest guy I have ever met." She attempts to scold me, but the humour in her tone betrays her. I swallow my laugh and toy with the hem of her tank top before slipping my hand underneath. I’m relieved when my palm meets bare skin.
"Like you're any better," I say while tracing circles around her belly button. I pat my pillow as an invitation for her to settle herself as close to me as possible, and she does just that. In one swift, easy movement, she places her head on my pillow and floods my nose with the smell of her shampoo. She reaches for the hand I’ve got on her hip and laces our fingers together.
"Okay, you make a good point."
She kisses the top of my hand, over the scars I know cover my knuckles from years of fights caused by unresolved anger towards my stepdad and the life I wished I could escape.
"That's what I thought," I hum knowingly, feeling my eyes become heavy with sleep.
