Page 38 of Keeping Busy
She looked up, giving me a small grin. “Yeah. I’m one of those people who has a hard time falling asleep in someplace unfamiliar. I think it comes from traveling so much as a child. Sometimes we fell asleep in one country, and woke up in a whole different one. I might be a little traumatized.”
She was traumatized? She didn’t know the half. “Trauma comes in all forms.”
She nodded. “Why’re you still up?” She looked down at the screen of her device to check the time. “It’s after one.”
I shrugged. “I’m one of those people who has a hard time falling asleep unless I’m completely exhausted. If I try to sleep before I’m exhausted, a mental “to-do” checklist runs through my head on a loop, and I lay in bed watching the hours on the clock tick by, knowing I’m getting that much less sleep. I try to avoid that kind of stress, if possible.” I took a beat. “You got enough blankets and stuff? You comfortable?”
“Yeah.” She said, then narrowed her honey colored eyes at me. “You headed to the refrigerator? You up sneaking late night snacks, Busy?”
I grinned at her. “Nah. I’m about to check the alarm. I can’t have nobody coming up in here trying to securethe entire bagand killing you in the process.”
“Right.” She agreed, and stood up from the bed, shoving her feet into colorful flip flops. “Come on.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You coming with me?”
“There’s safety in numbers.” She said, like that explained everything.
It was whatever to me, so the two of us walked downstairs together. I checked the alarm panel, making sure to set every alarm. I probably wasn’t always as diligent as I could have been, but with Mecca in my house, in my care, I took the extra precaution. She stood in the middle of my living room, repeatedly lifting her right leg while pointing and flexing her toes. For a few seconds, I was mesmerized by the definition in her leg, the way her calf muscle tightened, the way her quad muscle tightened. Just watching her was making me feel a way.
“What’re you thinking?” I asked her, because her face was so focused.
She looked over at me, with a small smile on her face like she’d forgotten that she wasn’t alone in the room. “That I could do so many pirouettes, fouettes and grand jetes in this one room.” She admitted.
“Those are dance moves, right?”
She nodded.
I held out my hand. “Do ya thing.”
“For real?” She eyed me.
“For real. Show it to me.”
She looked around tentatively, and finally chose a spot that was decidedly open and clear of obstacles. She slipped out of her flip flops, kicking them off to the side. I watched as she centered herself, opened her arms, positioned her right leg and went into a series of quick turns right in front of me. It was wild, unexpected, and artistic, but also very, very sexy and beautiful. I stared in awe as she slowed, and stopped herself on a dime, the right leg that she started with, ending behind her.
“Damn.” I said appreciatively. “How much dance training have you had?”
She kicked her leg into the sky, absent-mindedly flexing it, oblivious to the fact that my dick jumped at the movement.
“Probably since before you started in Pop Warner.” She smirked.
“I was six when I started playing Pop Warner football.”
“I started dance when I was three.”
“Looks good on you.”
“Thanks.”
“So, you ready to head back upstairs, or you got some more jumps and turns that you need to get out?” I teased.
“I’m good. Cuz if I marry you, and move in here, I can do jumps and turns in this living room anytime I want.”
It was weird that the fact that she kept joking about marrying me didn’t freak me out. It actually had me bugging the opposite way, like I felt a sense of calm both times she said it, because at least that part of my life would be settled. I would know who and what I was coming home to when I got off the road. I would probably like coming home to a woman like Mecca, who was easy and laid-back and gorgeous and sexy as shit. Plus, she grew up with an industry father who traveled all of the time. She understood the lifestyle, and wasn’t likely to be all insecure or in her feelings every time some chick posted a crazy picture on social media or something.
Why are you making up reasons to marry Mecca?I asked myself.She’s playing with you, and you’re over here mentally wifing her and making a home.
“Yeah, you can.” I assured her. “As long as you do them naked.”
