Page 37 of Santa Baby Maybe
“Why not?”
“I’m a side sleeper. I can’t really keep it raised on the pillow right, with the rest of my body on one side.”
“Here, move over.”
He sank down on the bed next to me, giving me no option other than to move and make space for him. “Uh, what are you doing?”
“One of us should get some sleep,” he whispered. “This will help.”
He spooned me from behind, then very carefully lifted my right leg so that it laid on top of both of his. So it was raised and supported even as I was on my side.
“W.B. you don’t have to…”
“Shh. Just close your eyes and we’ll worry about how potentially awkward this is tomorrow.”
“We’re sleeping in the same bed,” I whispered. I don’t know why I was whispering, as it was just the two of us in the house, but it was dark and late and felt weirdly intimate. Like the situation called for hushed voices.
“I’m merely acting as medical equipment,” he whispered back.
“You don’t feel like medical equipment,” I muttered. Instead, he felt really hard and incredibly warm. I was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, which were necessary for a cold night in Denver. Only now I felt totally overheated.
I mean, this was more than sharing the same house air. This was sharing the same bed air, and it had been a long time since I’d shared the same bed air with anyone. Also, I wasn’t wearing a bra. This was me, in a bed with W.B. and no bra. The potential for a possible boob brush was astronomically high.
My only problem was that I didn’t know if that was good news or bad news.
Potentially awkward, he’d said. Try unbelievably awkward. I was about to tell him that there was no way this was going to work and I had no chance of sleeping with him in my room, when I felt his hand rubbing slow circles at the small of my back.
“Stop thinking,” he whispered low in my ear. “Just close your eyes and sleep. Your body needs it to heal.”
Oh, wow, that felt good. All the pressure was off my ankle. I was sunk into the bed, and the circles on my back felt like I was being pulled under. It was crazy, but I trusted W.B. I trusted him to keep me safe and protected in a way that felt entirely too natural.
Incredibly, I drifted off into a painless sleep.
* * *
“Ow! What the hell?”
I’d been dozing in the early morning dawn, content where I was, which was still pressed up against W.B.’s chest and my ankle still suspended in the air as if he hadn’t moved all night. Opening my eyes, I glanced down at the suspected culprit. I knew what W.B.’s bellow meant.
“Jake, no bitey Mommy’s friend!”
“He bit my toe,” W.B. roared, outraged.
“Was it hanging off the bed?” I asked him, craning my neck over my shoulder.
“What has that got to do with anything?”
I winced. “Any body parts hanging off the bed in the morning are fair game. I think he thinks they are mice.”
“He bites you often in the morning?” W.B. asked, sounding even more outraged.
“No,” I said calmly. “I’ve learned to keep my fingers and toes on the bed.”
It was then that Jake hopped onto the bed, circled a few times in front of me, and settled down next to me. He spared a glance at W.B. but didn’t growl at him, which I thought was excellent progress.
“You keep a cat that bites you?”
I shrugged and reached out to pet him. “They’re just love bites. Besides, someone has to love Jake. I found him, so he’s my responsibility. He’s fiercely protective of me and lets me know any time strangers are coming near the house. So an excellent guard cat.”
