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"Whatever." I hop off the stool, dragging my feet over to the sitting room, and plop onto the expensive couch.
Simon walks into the kitchen and pushes a few buttons on Dominic’s fancy coffee machine.
“Why didn’t you get yourself something when you got the rest for the guys?”
Simon shrugs. “I would have gotten you something but I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble into the arm of the couch. “I think we’ve established that everyone knows I’m not a morning person.”
Simon carries his drink over into the sitting area and takes a seat in the chair near the foot of the couch I’m in. “I’m not either.” He blows on the steaming cup and takes a cautious sip. “Fuck that’s hot.”
Through my heavy eyes, I study the shape of his jaw, the hard lines and sharp edges. Even with the stubble from his beard coming in, his bone structure is fucking immaculate. My gaze trails to the coffee in his grasp, the veins prominent on the back of his hand. I don't mean to pay him this much attention, but there's no denying his maker spent extra time perfecting him.
“What’s that ring?” I ask him.
“Which one?” He turns the black thing on his middle finger and fidgets with the other on his index finger.
“The bigger one.”
“Family heirloom.”
I close my eyes and wait for him to continue.
"My grandad gave it to me when I was ten. That was shortly before he passed…"
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“He was sick.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, as if the second time will somehow make the words actually mean something to him.
“He told me to hold onto it for him. He was paranoid at the time—used to go on about someone rummaging through his things. Pretty sure he was just losing his mind, ya know?”
“Mmhm,” I mutter to keep him talking.
“He wasn’t always like that. We used to have a blast together. He’d take me to ball games…basketballandbaseball. Although, baseball was both our favorites.” He hesitates but continues, “I looked forward to those games with him.” Simon laughs like he’s recalling a memory. “We’d get hotdogs first. Without question. And then we’d get the biggest bucket of popcorn. I’d nearly puke from eating so much.”
“I love popcorn,” I tell him.
“And if I wasn’t already full enough, he’d buy me a gigantic cotton candy.”
“Which color?” I ask him.
“Blue, definitely blue.”
“We should go sometime,” I say.
“What?”
But instead of answering him, I accidentally drift to sleep.
* * *
Iwake to the sound of screaming. My chest aches. My throat raw. I blink and try to catch my breath. My eyes finally focus, and I settle them on the man who’s holding onto me, nothing but fear and concern caked on his face.
“You’re okay,” Simon tells me. “You’re safe.”
I steady myself and scoot out of his grasp. “I’m sorry.” Bringing my knees up to my chest, I try to recall what I was even dreaming about.
