“Right?”
“Maura.”
I blink and turn my head to transfer my eyes from the ceiling to his face. “Huh?”
“You okay?”
“What? Oh. Yeah. Fine. Tired. Being around my brother is exhausting.”
He sits up, swings his legs forward, and plants his feet on the floor. Resting his elbows on his knees, he asks, “Did he say something to upset you?”
“I’m not upset.”
“You’ve been quiet since the beginning of the second half.”
I resume my study of the wooden beams above us. “Beer makes me sleepy.”
“Ah. Okay. Well, you’re welcome to sleep here tonight.”
“Thanks. That would be… nice.”
He pops to his feet. “Let’s go.” Grabbing my hand on his way past me, he leads me to the stairs. “This way, ma’am.”
When he shows me to one of several guest rooms, I don’t question it. I’d assumed we’d sleep in the same bed, like we did in Hawaii. I’d wake up to the early morning smile I’ve missed so much since returning to real life. But I don’t want to make a big deal about it.
He shows me the extra supplies in the en-suite bathroom like the businesslike proprietor of a boarding house, then steps back into the hallway after a platonic peck on my cheek.
With a bob of his head toward the door a few feet down the hall, he says, “I’m right next door, if you need anything. Sweet dreams.”
Okay, then.
Alone, I strip until I’m wearing only my panties and the t-shirt that was under my Knox jersey, then brush my teeth and return to the bedroom, where I stare at the standard king-sized bed in the middle of the room. I can’t help but wonder how it compares to the one in Jet’s room that had my brother foaming at the mouth. Crossing the room and sliding under the covers, I moan at the sensation of the ten-thousand (give or take) thread count sheets against my bare legs. Oh, luxury, how I’ve missed you!
I miss my bedmate more, though. I turn my head and look at the empty pillow next to me. Without thinking about it, I’ve occupied the same side of the bed I slept in at the Pro Bowl, the opposite of where I sleep when I’m alone at home.
I sigh. This sucks.
Eighteen
Reality Beckons
Before I can dwell too much on my disappointment, I hear hissing in the hallway. “Torz! Here, boy. C’mon, Torzi.”
There’s a scratch on my door.
“No! Torz! What the hell? Since when? C’mon. Here. Come.”
Scratch, scratch. Whine, whine.
“Have you lost your mind? Get over here now.”
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.
I rise from the bed, cross the room, and flip on the lights. When I open the door, I come legs-to-face with Jet, who’s bending over to pick up his stubborn dog and carry him to bed. For about the hundredth time, I consider what a lucky bastard that pampered pooch is.
Jet smiles sheepishly and stands at his full height. “Maura. Sorry. Torz is obsessed with this room tonight, for some reason.”
I laugh. “If he wants to sleep in here, that’s fine. I guess.”
“Then who’s going to sleep with me?” he quips, his ears reddening as soon as the words are out.
And there it is. The perfect opening. I grab it before I have a chance to let my fear dictate yet another decision. “I can.”
Torz wiggles from Jet’s grasp and shoots past me, flinging himself onto the bed and circling three times on the pillow I was using. Then he curls up for what looks like the duration.
We both watch him for a while before I turn back to Jet. “Well. I guess that’s settled. I was lonely in there, anyway.”
He studies my face, as if trying to interpret what I’m saying. I’m still on the fence about my meaning, so I keep it ambiguous, giving myself an escape route. “Do you want some company?”
With a stunned, “S-sure!” he leads me to the next door down the hall.
On the threshold to his room, I stop short. “Holy bed, Batman.”
He laughs as he pulls back the covers to reveal layers of pillows. “Crazy, huh?”
I round the other side of the bed and look across the mattress at him. “You could fit a whole family in this thing.”
“Funny you should say that. It comfortably fit five of my nieces and nephews for nap time once. Some of them are still pretty little, though.”
“You got a picture of that, I hope.”
“Definitely. Remind me to show it to you sometime. It’s adorable.”
We look awkwardly at each other across the expanse of sheets for a few seconds until I realize he’s practicing a form of unchartered celibate sleepover manners and waiting for me, his guest, to get into bed first. If I tuck myself under the covers and stay on my side of the mattress, he’ll lie there all night and not touch me, exactly like he did in Hawaii. But if I make the first move, he’s all mine.
Suddenly, it’s obvious he’s just as afraid as I am; only he’s afraid of rejection, not of making the wrong decision. Trusting him is one of the safest decisions I could ever make.
My heart races, but I climb onto the bed and walk across it on my knees. Instead of simply watching him watch me while I make what’s sure to be a long, slow journey, I peel my shirt over my head. When I toss it aside, he takes that as his cue to scramble onto the bed and meet me halfway across the mattress, catching my face in his hands.
“Maura,” he breathes into my mouth before devouring it.
I clutch the front of his t-shirt for balance while using my other hand to slide my panties to my knees. He pushes me back on the pillows and removes his clothes as if the play clock’s about to run out. Frantically, feverishly, he yanks my underwear the rest of the way off and tosses them
