Page 28 of Under His Sheets
He planted his hands on his hips, that corner of his lips turned up.
I placed my hands by my sides on the bed and patted the spot next to me. That made Alonso chuckle.
“If I blow on you, you’ll fall over, you’re so tired.”
“Don’t make me sing to you.”
Alonso’s eyes bugged out. “¿Qué?”
I cleared my throat and let out a breathy rendition of the Aerosmith ballad. “I don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to fall asleep. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
The smile was back.
“That voice…” He made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth. He lowered himself to the bed next to me and placed his hand gently on top of mine, running his fingers over the back of my hands, in between my knuckles, which was oddly erotic to watch and to feel. I was a little mesmerized by his movements and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“I think you do need to close your eyes. Don’t worry about missing anything. We may have to be patient but we will have time.” He put his arm around me, kissed my temple, and then he gently pushed me over to lay my head on the pillow. “Sleep, amor.” He shifted me so he could tuck me under the covers. “If I’m not here when you wake, I’ll be downstairs.”
“There are two beds in here,” I slurred. My eyelids had grown so heavy and my breathing so deep, but before I lost all awareness, I heard Alonso whisper.
“But only one I want to be in.”
I’d never been a sound sleeper, even after drinking, and I never felt comfortable sleeping at someone else’s house or in hotel rooms.It had even taken me some time to get used to my new apartment.
I woke with a start and it took a minute to slow my heart rate.
Alonso sat in the rocking chair by the door, a lamp turned on above him that didn’t cast much light where the beds were. His dress shirt was unbuttoned and the sleeves were rolled up. His legs were spread wide in the charcoal slacks he’d worn that evening and he had one bare foot resting on a trunk on the floor, using the leverage to gently rock the chair. He had earbuds in, and in his hands…he was working on my sweater with a needle and thread.
The man was darning the hole.
The military man, the spy, was repairing my favorite cardigan.
Be. Still. My. Heart.
I tried to be quiet, not wanting to alert him, so I could keep watching. I wondered what he was listening to. His fingers were so nimble as he handled the needle, taking care like he did with everything else, to make what I assumed would be neat stitches. He was the kind of man who had the constant shadow of a beard on his face, and it highlighted that chin dimple. I wished I’d had the opportunity to kiss him there.
He glanced up and his hands stilled as he noticed I was awake.
“You’re a man of many skills, Alonso Segura.” I loved saying his name. It rolled off the tongue, felt good in my mouth…
“I like to be useful.” He held up the sleeve and appraised his work, then showed me that the hole had been repaired.
“Thank you. You seem to be rescuing me again, or at least my sweater.”
He quirked up one side of his lips and then tied off the thread and broke it. With his teeth. Then he tapped his phone and pulled out his earbuds.
“What were you listening to?”
With a shy smile, he turned his screen around so I could see my band’s second album cover on his streaming service.
“Is that weird?” he asked, and I wondered how such a man could even wonder what I’d think.
“You’ve most likely put your life on the line in dangerous situations, saved countless others, and yet you wonder if I think it’s weird you’re listening to my band? How did you even find us anyway?”
He stood from the chair, lay my sweater on the back of the chair once more, and then he walked toward the bed. He’d left the lamp on so as he walked, I had a moment to study the way he moved. His thighs were slightly bowed, his stomach flat, and he had some sort of tattoo on his chest, though I couldn’t make it out. He sat hesitantly on the foot of the bed.
“I was stationed in Italy for a while and listened to a lot of their old pop music. I’d heard it growing up, Mama was a fan. It was a good way to practice my Italian. Then I was in Argentina for work back in twenty-eleven and that was when I saw Mike Patton perform theMondo Canealbum. It was quite an experience. I’ve always liked theatrical music, movie soundtracks, and of course flamenco. They help me get out of my head. Your music has that quality as well. Anyway, your album came up on my app as a recommendation and I listened. Andlistened. My end-of-year report even said I was in the top ten percent of your fans.”
“No you were not.” I ran a hand down my face and pushed up on my elbows. “It’s wild to me that you would have even heard of us. I mean, outside of America. We’d played UK and Ireland before, but this last tour was our first time in the rest of Europe.”
