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I manage to do so without dropping anything, then offer one of the pickles to Carleigh.She turns and smiles her thanks, then takes it.
“Ooh this is good, Bryson.”
“Thanks.”I follow suit and have to agree; one of my better batches, for sure.“Half-sour, just like you,” I joke, which earns me a swat to my leg.I slide my plate on the coffee table and prop the foot up beside it.“Thanks for the late lunch, too.Definitely better than the deli.”
“Of course, it was.”Carleigh leans even further into me.She stretches both feet out at a slight angle to mine, settling them on the coffee table as well.Then, to my amusement, she reaches behind herself, grabs my arm, and pulls it around her.
I can’t help but laugh softly.“Yeah, just get comfy, Half-Sour.”
“Yeah, I will.”The teasing lilt is evident in her voice as Carleigh points at the TV.“What is this show, anyway?What’s with the cars?”
“I don’t know, it was the first recommendation.Just trying to find something that isn’t Bravo-based.”I play my fingers against her ribcage, tickling lightly.
Carleigh scoffs.“You are just as intoReal Housewivesas I am now, don’t even lie.”
“I will never admit that.”I flip the TV to Planet Earth.“This better?”I ask.“Warning you, this might put me to sleep for an hour.”
“Oh, Bryson, if you’re tired, I can leave you alone,” Carleigh says immediately, moving to sit up.“I’ll mess up your sleep.”
I tighten my grip.“Don’t go nowhere,” I say, even as I close my eyes.“You stand guard while ol’ Bryson naps.”
“I’ll do my best,” she reports, and I remember nothing after.
I wake up slowly.
I know I haven’t been asleep for that long – an hour at best – because my post-work naps, if I take them, are never that intense.Plus, Planet Earth is still playing, and I’ve still got Carleigh under my arm.Her feet are back curled beneath herself and she’s deep in my side and breathing even now; her eyes are closed.
My thumb moves against her dress, stroking lightly.She sighs, shifts a little, but doesn’t wake.
Damn it.I just had to go get Carleigh as a roommate.I couldn’t have found some grease ball on Craigslist.Just had to listen to Morocco, and I had to find this funny, smart, beautiful woman.And now I’m in too deep – now I’m laughing with her, cuddling with her, now I never want to go out again, so that I have a reason to sit here on this couch and hold her.
Because I’m a big sap and she’s here, so pretty and comfy and small against me, I got my other arm, stitches and bruises and all, involved in this mess.I’m lifting it and bringing it over and my fingers are sliding her hair away from where it’s caught against her neck, all so I don’t have to move my other hand from where it rests on her waist.It gives me a beautiful line of sight across her neck, over her collarbones, to where her pale skin swells and then disappears under the dress, and then beyond.I gently wrap my hand around her slim bicep, thumb on the outside.
Her skin is cold to the touch and I suspect that either the A/C has kicked in or the heat from the oven has faded, so I lean my head against the back of the couch, close my eyes, and rub her arm slowly, nearly absentmindedly, only faintly aware of the soft press of her right breast against the back of my knuckles.
When Carleigh stirs some unknown amount of time later, I still my hand.
“Sorry,” I apologize, whispering as quietly as I can, like if I barely say it and she barely hears it, it means it barely happened.
But she does.“It’s okay,” she breathes, reaching one of her hands up to settle over mine.“You don’t have to apologize.It feels nice.”
“Oh,” I say back, feeling dumb.
Carleigh gently unwinds herself from my hands.She looks a little pink when she sits up.“I better go check on my dough,” she says, in what almost seems like a regretful tone.“How’s your ankle?”
“Hurts,” I admit.“I should probably take another painkiller.”I lift my foot off the table and wince when it finds the floor.
“I can get them,” Carleigh offers, but I decline.
“I have to pee, too, but thanks anyway.”I make an exaggerated show of groaning as I stand, but my bones do hurt a little; god, I really need to find a better line of work than one that’s going to crush my body by the time I’m forty.
Carleigh is still peering at me with concern.“You sure you’re okay, Bryson?”she asks, her fingertips delicately touching my injured bicep.
“Right as rain.”I open my arms for a hug, hoping it’s not too forward, like I didn’t just spend the last hour and some with her in my arms already.“Thanks for taking care of me.”
Carleigh steps in and lets me fold my arms around her.“I didn’t do anything,” she says, voice muffled against my chest.
Clearly, I’ve given up my vow from earlier to not touch her as much.I’ll start again after my leg is better.Right now, I just want a hug, and she fits so well and smells so good and she’s so soft, and it’s honestly impossible not to want to run my palms across her bare upper back when she’s wearing this dress.Which I do, only half-ashamedly, but she makes a happy-sounding noise into my shirt and hugs me back just as tightly.
”Well, there’s always that sponge bath,” I say, cutting the tension with a joke when I finally manage to pull back from her.
Carleigh’s eyes dance as she laughs.“Play your cards right with your takeout choice and we’ll see,” she teases, then disappears into the kitchen.
I’m a goner.
