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“I can’t. Since you insisted going to college isn’t a waste of money, I took a few half-semester classes. Just to get my feet wet,” she called from the other side of the door.
“It’s not a waste of money. You’re going to do great.” I smoothed my hands over my pants, palms sweaty and struggling to keep my eyes anywhere but on the bathroom door.
“But who’ll make sure I study?” she teased.
The tension in my shoulders abated. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of volunteers.”
She poked her head out, toothbrush in her hand and brown eyes bright. “But I want you.”
She retreated back into the bathroom, and I laid back on the bed with a groan. Maybe the trip would be a good thing. My obsession with Nora had only amplified since we’d married. Little offhand comments like that only made my obsession worse.
I pushed myself back to sitting just as she emerged from the bathroom, face washed clean and cheeks pink. A smile spread across her lips as she took me in, her head listing onto the door frame.
“Can we sleep in your room tonight?”
* * *
I’d never been a morning person. Sure, I forced myself up because, for whatever reason, a career in the fitness industry presumed being a morning person. So, I pulled myself out of bed for six A.M. yoga sessions at conferences and ran with the rising sun, but deep down, I just wanted to burrow under the covers and sleep well past ten.
Then, I’d started spending every night in bed with Nora.
The first night had been innocent enough. Still loopy from surgery, she’d invited me to lie down and I’d fallen asleep beside her. The next night, she turned down the anything except ibuprofen and I offered to rub her head to help her fall asleep. She agreed.
A few nights later, her pain had been so far down the scale that she hadn’t even asked for an aspirin, she’d simply thrown back the covers on my side of the bed, and I crawled in. We didn’t speak about it after that. I couldn’t be sure of Nora’s excuse, but I worried the fragile deal we’d made would crumble the minute I talked about the way our arrangement had morphed.
Suddenly, I became a morning person. Because every night, we started on opposite sides of the bed, but by the morning, I woke up curled around her; Nora’s soft breath on my shoulder, her fingers burrowed into the fabric of my shirt, and her leg thrown over mine, pinning me to the bed.
I wasn’t completely innocent either. My arms would be wound tight around her waist, my palm worked under her shirt and pressed to the small of her bare back. I’d trained myself to stay still when I woke up, careful not to move. Because if I did, Nora would inevitably open her eyes, pop out of bed, and pretend she had no clue how we’d ended up in each other’s arms. In seconds, she’d mutter something about breakfast and dart out the door.
This morning, I opened my eyes half an hour before the alarm sounded. She had her injured arm on my chest and her leg slung over my thighs. The top button of her pajamas had come undone overnight, pink lace peeking out beneath the cotton fabric. I held in a groan, my morning wood nearly unbearable. But she'd wake up the minute I shifted to relieve some of the pressure.
“So, what day do you leave?”
She was already awake.
“Next Monday,” I rasped, my body going still as I waited for her to bolt.
Only she didn’t. She stayed in my arms, sinking into my chest, her fingers twisting around the hem of my shirt.
“And it’s four weeks?”
“I can probably come home for a weekend.”
Her fingers clenched and then released. She sat up.
“I’ll make coffee before you go.”
She left the room, closing the door behind her. I released the groan that had been caught in my chest, throwing an arm over my eyes. My mind split between immediately climbing into the shower to rub one out or calling Brad and canceling the next four weeks of meetings. Neither option was ideal, given the circumstances.
I pulled my phone off the bedside charger and flipped through the meetings, looking for gaps and finding none. I searched the community college class schedule and found no relief there, either. Short of tanking one of our obligations, I would have to make peace with Nora spending nearly a month alone.
Or maybe not.
I sat up, showering and changing into a white shirt and a pair of shorts. I jogged downstairs with a plan.
My plan was knocked out of importance the moment I spotted Nora in the kitchen. She had her hair up in a spiky ponytail, and the aroma of freshly ground coffee hung in the air. She stood in front of an open cabinet, reaching for a mug on the top shelf, her shirt raised to expose bare skin and her shorts grazing the bottom of her ass.
The hard-on I’d successfully abated with a cold shower came back. Great. I averted my eyes and slid into the breakfast nook before drawing her attention to the fact I’d walked into the room.
