Page 55 of The Twelve Days of Christian
I drag my eyes away, slide between my crisp sheets and scoot across to the other side of the bed, where I like to sleep. Christian slips in beside me, his weight tipping me a little towards him as I adjust my pillow.
“Sorry, I didn’t ask which side you wanted.”
“Any side is fine with me.” He tucks one arm beneath me, offering his shoulder for my head. His other arm loops across, settling on my waist. We lay there, our breath in sync, peaceful.
“Ahh, do you sleep with the light on?” he asks after a moment. “Because I suppose I could, if you do…” He’s grinning across at me.
I roll my eyes and leap out to get the light. It’s like the whole world is upended by his presence; even the simplest of routines disrupted. His rumbling laughter is a beacon of sound, guiding me back through the darkness. I navigate around the bed and wriggle across to him. Lying on his shoulder once more, I know sleep will come easily tonight, secure inside the safe harbour of his arms.
Chapter 27
Day Nine
I wake in Haley’sbed regretting I didn’t insist on a pillow wall. The pressure of my enormous morning wood against boxer briefs—even this stretchy pair of Calvins—is almost painful. She’s sleeping on her side, facing away from me. My arm is across her, just below those beautiful tits; under my hand, her breaths rise and fall in a contented rhythm. Right now, the exquisite curve of her bum against my dick is not helping. She wanted me to sleep here, and there’s no way I’d have turned down the offer. But I’m not sure she’d thought it through.
Sleeping with me means waking up not only with me—but my friend down there who has taken no such vow to go slow. Normally I’d just take matters in hand, slink off to the shower and find quickrelief. Do I move and risk her waking, to find that pressed to her back? Or do I stay here absolutely still and try to think of something very unsexy to distract myself in the hope eager ‘Mr Ready and Willing’ gets the message to stand down? I don’t get the chance to decide.
Haley stirs and turns sleepily towards me, her mouth tipping up in a lazy, “Good morning.” She presses a small kiss to my chest, before snuggling across so her body and mine are close. I swivel my hips back a bit, trying to make space for this annoying prick that’s determined to make his presence felt. If she’s noticed, she says nothing, sparing me the embarrassment.
“Good morning. Sleep well?”
“Like a baby.” She gives a little yawn. “The dogs too. Didn’t wake us up even once. That’s unusual.”
“Oh they did,” I say. “I let them out around two. There was a pretty nasty smell circulating from their direction. Figured it might be best to kick them out for a pit stop.”
“Really?” she says. “Wow, I didn’t notice.”
“Well, I’m pleased I didn’t wake you. Although I’m a little hurt, you didn’t notice I’d gone.”
She elbows me playfully. “How about I cook you breakfast? Make it up to you.”
“Sounds great.” She slides out of bed and I’m saved. “OK if I grab the shower first?” I might need a cold one.
“Sure.” Her muffled voice struggles upwards from the depths of one of those oversized Oodie things. When her head emerges, it’s like she’s wearing a tent, although the heavy bright red fabric with Christmas trees dotted all over is unlike any tent I’ve ever seen. Shelooks ridiculous, but totally adorable. “Come on, dogs.” They leap to their feet.
The trio disappears and I make a dash for the shower, where I can deal with my unruly body parts in private, and arrive in the kitchen a little more composed.
Although she claims baking is more her specialty, and cooking meals not so much, the breakfast is delicious. Waffles dripping with syrup are an American innovation I fell in love with on our last tour there. It’s kind of perfect to be sitting here in this kitchen, eating them with her.
After cleaning up, Haley announces she’s baking gingerbread cookies. Some volunteers for the dog rescue have a stall at the market selling Christmas crafts and baked goods. She wants to do her part in the fundraising. A twinge of guilt grabs at me as I think of how much difference I might have made for them if things had been different. How many bake stalls will it take to make a hundred grand?
“You should help me.” She flicks the oven on to heat and turns back to the recipe book open on its stand. “Take your mind off things.”
We both know what things loom over us today. Anything to stop me from dwelling on all the possible outcomes of yesterday’s meeting is a good idea.
“Sure, as long as you tell me what to do.”
I’m the opposite of her in the culinary department. I can rustle up a decent meal, but—surprisingly, given how much I love to eat them—cakes and cookies are not my thing.
Before I know it, I’m wearing an apron and a frown, calculating the most efficient placement of the star-shaped cutter to get the maximum number of cookies from the slab of dough she’s rolledout. Wrestling with the task partly occupies my mind, but it’s the conversation with Haley that chews up most of it.
Two days ago, Loreena shared my secret. Since then, so much has happened, and Haley and I haven’t really talked about it. To find out I’ve had feelings for her for three years, and hidden them so well she’s never noticed, has to be unnerving. It’s no surprise; she’s got questions. This morning, Haley’s trapped me here in the kitchen, and she’s determined to get some answers.
“So, you’re telling me it started the first time you saw me? That’s bonkers.”
I nod. “It sounds crazy, but yeah, it did.”
It never seemed crazy to me. There was always something so right about wanting Haley. The logical part of my brain never argued back on that, although it reminded me every day that wanting her and having her were worlds apart.
