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“Noted.” Talia sat up and swung her legs out of bed. “We’ll figure it out later. It’s early. You should see if you can get a little more shut-eye.”
“I’ll try,” Fleet told her. “But I’m just going to lay here thinking about you, and how satisfying it’s going to be to finally be here with you, naked.”
“Uh, uh. Shut those thoughts down,” she scolded. “I can already see the sheets moving in an upward direction, and erections aren’t good for you. Remember?”
“Who says?” Fleet chuckled. “I think it’s damned fine. You wanna see?”
Talia moaned. “Thanks for the visual. Showering now.” She moved adroitly toward the adjoining bath. “And Iwon’tbe taking care of myself under the spray, so don’t be picturing that.” The door snicked closed, and…
Well, shit.That’s all Fleet could think about now, the little minx. She’d known exactly what she was doing leaving him with those words.
He must have fallen back to sleep, because the next thing he knew when he opened his eyes, the sun was bright behind the window shades, and gentle clunking sounds emanated from the kitchen. He looked at the clock. Nine A.M. When was the last time he’d stayed in bed that late?
Oh. Right.At the hospital. But that wasn’t part of his life, typically. Still, did he want to move? His head felt great, and although he wasn’t one to perseverate, he was afraid once he became upright, the pounding might return.
Chicken-shit.When had he become such a wuss? It must be a mild case of pain-induced PTSD.Suck it up, Eggers, he told himself.Life is pretty damned good right now, stalker notwithstanding.
He forced himself to rise, then blinked. No icepick to his eyeballs. No vice squeezing his temples.Hot damn.Maybe this was going to work. How awesome would that be?
He trod softly to the bathroom and inhaled. He could still smell Talia’s shampoo from earlier, and he eyed the purple bottle.Nope.Not going there. If he used her products, he’d be hard all day, thinking she was near.
He shrugged and took care of business, made fast work of his shower, then sauntered out to the kitchen where Pixie was fussing about. Fleet looked around, but he didn’t see breakfast. He noted counters. Full of…stuff.
“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.
Pixie grinned. “Talia may not like it, but her cupboards were a mess. It was almost impossible to find anything. She had plates mixed with glasses mixed with canned goods. Her silverware drawer had no dividers so everything was a mish-mosh. And don’t even get me started on her pans and bakeware. I may not shop, but I cook, and finding a saucepan in her dark lower cabinets is like a safari.”
Fleet laughed. “I guess I had noticed that,” he admitted. “But I figured it was just part of Talia’s charm.”
“More like part of her ‘can’t be bothered with minutia’ personality. Give her a bad-guy to chase, or a partner with whom to spar, and her attention to detail is uncanny. Ask her to find you a slotted spoon, and you might as well suggest she travel to the moon.”
Fleet was highly amused. “So you’re…”
“Organizing her. Whether she likes it or not. Then…” She turned to place a box of teabags next to a jar of instant coffee. “…Doug has asked me if I want to go for a ride and have dinner with him later today. I said yes.”
He nodded, but…
Fleet didn’t know how he felt about that. Cheered, because Pixie was coming out of her shell. But bummed it had to be Doug. Sure, the man was no longer on their suspect list—Mason saying he’d been fully sniffed and cleared by Muddy right after the debacle in Skowhegan—but the guy was still a jerk.
“That’s nice, Pix.” Fleet took the high road because Talia’s sister looked so pleased. He’d have to warn his woman, though. He didn’t want her blindsided so she blew a gasket in front of Pixie. “You’ll have your own bodyguard and I’ll have mine. I told Talia I’d hold off my walk today until she got home. I’m keen to explore a little more of that damn, and I plan on contacting the surgeon to ask if I can add to my steps today.”
“Youarelooking well this morning,” Pixie returned, her tongue poking out as she weighed a can of peas in her good hand while eyeballing a heavy glass pitcher. Her decision made, one by one she placed each in a separate cabinet, then began loading in like-items. “No headache today?” she asked.
“Nope. My noggin is clear as a bell. I’m going to grab some food, then get back to my computer. I might even have a look at a new score one of my more ambitious bands sent for my perusal.”
“Don’t overdo,” Pixie warned as she looked at the date on a bottle of salad dressing, wrinkled her nose, and tossed it into the trash. “The only reason you’re feeling so good is because you’ve been following the rules.”
Fleet saw the validity in what she said, and he’d take it into consideration. But right now it was going to be an internal battle on which would be more stressful for him; working a little longer, or ignoring everything that was piling up. He’d have to find a balance that satisfied both him and his surgeon.
* * *
By late afternoon,Fleet was tired but happy. He’d had a discussion with the doc this morning after he’d downed a couple slices of avocado toast. She’d been pleased with his progress and lack of pain, so had cleared him to monitor himself, work-wise, warning that if he suffered even the slightest twinge or any unusual eye fatigue, he was to immediately shut things down.
He’d listened, and behaved, even taking a mid-day nap. But he’d managed to cross off a number of things from his work docket, and it had left him feeling pretty mellow. He’d since had the chance to walk outside, waving to the two officers stationed by the door whom he vaguely recognized, before placing a call to Talia, warning her of Pixie’s plans.
Other than some heavy sighing, his girl took it well. She didn’t raise the roof. Which was good. He wanted Talia to be in an upbeat mood for their jaunt this afternoon. He had a serious question to ask her.
He might be jumping the gun, but… Well, time would tell.
