Page 33 of Everywhere You Look

This is not how we fell asleep. There was no discussion or building of pillow walls down the center of the mattress to keep us separate, but when Luke slid into his side of the bed, I laid on the opposite side. He sleeps with a thousand blankets on his bed, so it was easy to avoid the “are we sharing a blanket? How close to each other should we sleep?” dance with all the choices. We each occupied our own sides of the king size mattress, and I can’t speakfor Luke, but once my head hit the pillow, I was out in seconds.

So how the hell did we end up here? With my blanket kicked to the floor—not surprising, I get hot at night—and my husband’s chest pressed against mine and the rest of him wrapped around my body like a baby koala, snoozing away while my morning wood tries to burrow itself inside his abdomen?

And if I’m not mistaken,hismorning wood is having the time of its life pressing against my hip.

I blow out a breath, trying to decide the best course of action for removing myself from this situation. If I wake Luke up to move him, he might be embarrassed by the way he clung to me in his sleep. Or worse, he’ll feel my cock poking his abs and decide that I’m some pervert who just married him to get into his bed.

I decide to make myself stiff as a board and just sort of…slide my way out from underneath Luke’s sleeping frame and out of the bed. I suck in a breath, pulling my muscles in my core taut as I lift my hands over my head so I can hold on to the headboard for leverage. Then, I slowly slip the leg furthest from Luke to the edge of the mattress until I can carefully lower my foot to the ground.

Luke sighs, and I hold my breath as I wait for him to wake up and catch me hanging half off the bedwhile I grip his headboard like a jungle gym. But in a short moment, his breath is slow and even again. I count to fifty before I risk moving, slowly untangling my other leg from Luke until it’s also on the ground.

The only thing left to do is to get my chest out from under him, and I figure the best way to do that is channel my inner magician and launch myself off the bed like Houdini yanking a tablecloth.

One, two, three…

On an exhale, I ground my feet into the carpet and slide out from underneath Luke. When I’m free from his grip, I lose my balance and sort of somersault on the ground and knock my shoulder on the bedside table in the process. It rattles against the wall, causing an echo-y noise, but when I peek up at the bed through squinted eyes, Luke is still fast asleep, having replaced my body with a pillow he cuddles against his chest.

Okay, two things I’ve learned about my husband this morning. He’s a total snuggle monster, and he can sleep through anything. Good to know.

I sort of half walk, half hobble my way across the bedroom floor to the en suite bathroom, flipping on the shower and pushing down my underwear before stepping under the warm spray.

My cock is still hard as stone, but I fight the urge to take myself in hand. The image of Luke, mussedfrom sleep and warm against my body, doesn’t do anything to help the arousal coursing through my blood, but I have to stand strong. Luke is taking the girls to an art show in the park this afternoon. I’ll stay home and have some alone time with myself and one of my favorite audio erotica performers. It’ll have to be a woman today, because then I won’t be tempted to shut my eyes and picture Luke’s pretty pink lips or the cut, muscular planes of his stomach. I close my eyes, my fingers trailing down my torso until I reach my dick, and I?—

No! I drop my hand before I can wrap it around myself and turn to set the water to ice cold. Because as much as I might want to, I cannot jerk off to thoughts of my husband.

I cannot jerk off to thoughts of my husband. I cannot jerk off to thoughts of my husband.

I just need to repeat that mantra for the foreseeable future.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

13

THEY CALL IT PUPPY LOVE

Luke

I stare up at the ceiling as the alarm on my phone plays a stupid song, one that is just annoying and loud enough to wake me from even the deepest slumber. But I don’t need the stupid alarm song today. I haven’t needed it for two weeks. My morning alarm has become irrelevant because for some reason, ever since Dean entered my bedroom, my body has become attuned to when it’s alone and refuses to stay asleep if he’s not here in the bed with me.

Which is frustrating, because for all of his insistence on sharing a bed now that we’re married, Dean is never,everhere when I wake up.

Begrudgingly, I grab my phone to silence thealarm, then run my hand over his side of the bed. It’s already cool, just like it was yesterday morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that. Which shouldn’t bother me.

Why should it bother me? Dean is an early riser. Ever since he moved in, he’s been the first one out of bed, the one who changes Ollie’s overnight diaper and wakes Lem and Mel before corralling them downstairs for bowls of Cheerios and sliced bananas all before I wake up and shower.

It shouldn’t bother me that he wants to fall asleep next to me but isn’t there when I wake up.

But it does, and it has me feeling extra cranky this morning.

So cranky, in fact, that I decide I’m going to confront Dean today. I need to know why he sneaks out of bed every morning when it was his idea that we sleep together in the first place. Maybe we need to revisit the notes app rulebook and define some boundaries, because this marriage of convenience is already becoming an inconvenience for my head—and my pride.

I sulk through my morning routine, grumpily trimming my beard over the bathroom sink—let me tell you, it’s not easy to keep a beard straight and clean when you’re frowning.

After my shower, I all but stomp down the backstairs that lead to the kitchen, ready to unleash my cranky attitude on myhusband,but I stop halfway down the stairs when I hear happy conversation floating up from the kitchen table.

“Esta es…”

“¡Un plátano!”

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