Page 85 of Wild Card
I laugh until my cheeks hurt. I laugh until my throat feels hoarse. I laugh until my stomach cramps.
I havefun.
And god, it’s one of the best afternoons of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GWEN
Since Bash came home, I’ve been in an insufferably good mood.
Between a night spent lying beside him and an afternoon spent getting silly on the front porch, a new sense of camaraderie has grown between us.
It’s like he finally opened up, and now I can’t help but feel a whole new level of attachment to him. To us. Or, well, to the idea of us.
Last night, I didn’t push my luck after watching Bash get high—for the first time in what I had to assume was decades. When we went back inside the house, he scarfed down a bowl of chicken noodle soup, then some fresh-baked cookies…and then a bowl of chips.
After a full attack of the munchies, he walked to the plush couch in the living room, flopped down, and conked out. For three hours, he slept, and I know because I kept checking on him. I draped a blanket over his sleeping form, marveling at how much younger he appears in sleep, without the stern crease to his brow.
When he woke up, he looked better rested than he had first thing in the morning. And seeing his improvement made it thatmuch easier to head out to the studio for a night’s worth of teaching.
Even today, my good mood persists. Partially because when I got home from work last night, the sounds of my favorite singing bowls playlist filtered from beneath Bash’s room and the scent of lavender oil wafted from beneath his door.
Earlier I had texted him the link to the playlist and then left my speaker and the oil on his bedside table, just in case.
Bash using them should not have felt as good as it did. It was so small, so simple. But it felt like more. It felt like he didn’t think I was ridiculous or zany. It felt like he valued the strategies I showed him.
It felt like he valuedme.
I went to my room with a goofy grin on my face, though a huge part of me was tempted to crawl into bed with him. Sleeping next to Bash had been peaceful in a way that I don’t know I’ve experienced before.
It was a quiet companionship, a soothing connection. It was justmore.
Everything with Bash has been, since the first time we met.
Now, I prepare the studio for my morning class, brain still hung up on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
I lay out blocks and straps at each station, with a full lesson plan in my mind, then I head to the front of the studio so I can greet the students as they filter in.
One by one, familiar faces pass through the door, each a part of the regular following I’ve amassed. Until I find myself staring into the eyes of someone I didn’t expect to see here at all.
Bash.
My mouth pops open and then closes again. “What…” I trail off, shaking my head as my lips curve up into a smile. “What are you doing here?”
The way his gaze rakes over my body, lingering at my hips, my waist, my breasts, makes my body hum. For someone who spent so many years working to find beauty in her body, I don’t need to try at all with Bash.
He shrugs, eyeing the studio as though he’s never seen it before, assessing the odds and ends for sale on the shelf in the corner. “I had a call with one of the fire association’s mental health workers this morning, and they suggested some different ways for me to soothe my nervous system. Yoga was one of them.” His eyes slice back to mine. “I told them I knew one of the best teachers around. Figured I’d try it.”
My cheeks hurt from how hard I grin back at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So far, every piece of advice you’ve given me has only made me feel better. So I bet this will too.”
I giggle. Yes, Bash makes me giddy.
He wrings his hands together now, a flash of uncertainty touching his features. “I also wanted to take a moment to…” He scrubs a hand over his beard. “To apologize.”
“For what?”
