Page 39 of Crossing the Line
It was probably sympathetic exhaustion.
Or maybe, she smiled, just maybe it was because it felt good to have Bixby in her space.
Not that she'd admit it out loud.
Or to his face.
"What'r you watchn'?"
She chuckled softly at his grumpy voice.
"It's just a trailer for a show."
"Hmmm..." He sounded thoughtful, but absent at the same time. "Wanna watch wi' me?"
Her shoulder shook with silent laughter.
"Sure..." she reached for the remote and hit the play button.
It was some kind of cooking show, but not from the US.
It's funny how things that had been so familiar at one point were now odd or novel.
Had she been tired of it at one point?
The old 'familiarity breeds contempt' adage?
Janice sighed.
She didn't like not having an answer.
She turned to look at Bixby and before she knew she was doing it, she reached out and smoothed her hand down his arm, starting at his shoulder and down to his elbow, further down to his wrist.
It was likely a momentous mistake, but she trailed her fingertips down over the back of his hand.
His skin was warm.
The texture of it familiar.
She smiled, wondering how silly he'd think she was touching him like this.
Then she was too tired to worry about it.
As the host on the screen started rhythmically chopping something on a cutting board the size of a small rescue raft, Janice's eyes drifted closed and she drifted off to sleep.
BIXBY
He woke up warmer than he'd felt in a long time.
The air on his face was still pleasantly chilled.
Janice used to say that he lived the life of a polar bear, big and burly but enjoying temperatures of the arctic.
He drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out, reaching his hand down to adjust the blanket that was draped over him.
What his hand came in contact with wasn't the familiar texture of his blanket, but something that felt more like silk under his fingertips.
Bixby opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.
