Page 44 of Hammer

I heard the shower running when I finally gathered enough courage to enter the bedroom.After our kitchen encounter, Hammer had disappeared to his office, then to the clubhouse, returning late enough that I’d almost given up waiting.Now, I stood frozen by the dresser, nightgown clutched to my chest, listening to the water beat against the tile and wondering how we were supposed to navigate this -- sharing a bed with a man I’d kissed hours ago, who had pulled away despite wanting more.The marriage certificate might be fake, but the tension between us was painfully real.

The bathroom door opened in a cloud of steam, and Hammer stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist.We both froze, caught in an awkward tableau.Droplets of water clung to his silver chest hair, trailing down to his stomach, which was solid but softened slightly with age.Scars marked his skin -- some faded white with time, others still pink and angry.The Dixie Reapers patch tattooed over his heart seemed almost to pulse with each beat.

“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing clothes from his dresser.“Thought you’d be in the kitchen or watching a movie.”

I shook my head, clutching my nightgown tighter.“The boys just texted.They’re on their way home.”

He nodded, retreating back to the bathroom with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.When he emerged again, fully clothed, some of the tension had left his shoulders, though he still avoided looking at me.

“I’ll change in here,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom he’d just vacated.

My nightgown was nothing special -- a knee-length cotton thing, modest as a nun’s habit.I’d packed it without thinking, never imagining I’d be wearing it while sharing a bed with a man I was legally married to yet barely knew.In the mirror, I looked pale, my eyes too wide, my hair a tangled mess from when Hammer’s fingers had threaded through it during our kiss.I brushed it quickly, trying to calm my racing heart.

When I came out, Hammer was already in bed, propped against the headboard, pretending to read a motorcycle magazine.The bed was king-size, plenty large enough for two people to sleep without touching.He’d positioned himself on the far right edge, leaving a vast expanse of mattress between where he lay and where I would sleep.

I slipped under the covers on my side, the sheets cool against my skin.We lay there like strangers, two islands separated by an ocean of Egyptian cotton.The ceiling fan whirred softly overhead, the only sound besides our carefully measured breathing.

“Boys get home okay?”Hammer asked finally, his deep voice startling in the quiet room.

“Yes,” I replied, staring at the ceiling.“Aura texted while I was in the bathroom, saying they were all going to clean up and head to bed.”

He grunted in acknowledgment, turning a page in his magazine without looking at me.I wondered what it would be like to feel the texture of his beard against my palms again.

I shifted slightly on the mattress, turning to face him.“We should talk about earlier.”

His jaw tightened visibly.“Nothing to talk about.”

“You kissed me,” I said softly.

“Mistake,” he replied, still not looking at me.“Won’t happen again.”

The dismissal stung more than it should have.“Didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

Hammer sighed, finally setting down his magazine.“Amelia,” he said, my name somehow both gentle and firm on his lips.“This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“Actually, it is.”I propped myself up on one elbow, facing him directly.“I offered to be your old lady, remember?That usually implies more than just sharing a mailing address.”

His eyes met mine, dark with something unreadable.“You offered because you needed protection.Not because you wanted…” He gestured vaguely between us.“This.”

“Maybe both can be true,” I suggested, inching closer to him on the mattress.“Maybe I needed protection and maybe I’m attracted to you.”

Hammer tensed visibly as the distance between us narrowed.“This isn’t working,” he grumbled, throwing back the covers.“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I reached out instinctively, my hand catching his forearm.“Stay,” I said, the word half command, half plea.It felt like he was running away from me.I just didn’t understand why.If I said this was what I wanted, why did he insist on pushing me away?“Please.We don’t have to do anything.Just… stay.”

He hesitated, his weight half-on, half-off the bed, muscles corded with tension beneath my fingers.Finally, he sank back onto the mattress, though he maintained his position at the far edge.“Fine.But we sleep.Just sleep.”

I nodded, retreating to my side.“Deal.”

We lay in silence, backs to each other, an invisible line drawn down the center of the bed.Despite the distance, I was acutely aware of his presence -- the subtle dip of the mattress beneath his weight, the rhythm of his breathing gradually slowing as he drifted toward sleep.Eventually, my own eyes grew heavy, and I surrendered to exhaustion, the ghost of our kiss still tingling on my lips.

The next night followed the same pattern -- awkward preparations for bed, careful distance maintained, minimal conversation.The night after that was the same.By the fourth night after our heated kiss, frustration had begun to simmer beneath my skin.This man had kissed me like he was drowning and I was air, then retreated behind walls so thick I couldn’t find a way through.

On the fifth night, I decided on a different approach.The modest nightgown stayed in the drawer, replaced by a soft tank top and shorts I’d bought during a quick shopping trip with Aura.Nothing overtly sexy, but more revealing than what I’d been wearing.When I emerged from the bathroom, Hammer’s gaze flicked up, then quickly away, but not before I caught the flare of appreciation in them.

“New pajamas?”he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

I shrugged, slipping under the covers.“Aura took me shopping.Said I needed to ‘expand my wardrobe.’”

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