Page 104 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Not “good,” sweetheart. Great!
We ordera Mexican feast and watch a movie, and Riles eventually falls asleep at the opposite end of the sofa. I consider carrying her to her bed, but I don’t want to overstep and freak her out if she were to wake up in my arms. She’s already accused me of drugging my niece beyond just giving her milk, so I don’t want to risk her thinking I’ve somehow roofied her. I’d like to believe she wouldn’t go there, but… who knows with Riles.
Pacing before her, deliberating my best course of action, I stop and grip my hair. I could just wake her up—she has no problems waking me most mornings—or I could just leave her to sleep where she is. It looks comfortable enough, and when she awakensand finds I haven’t touched her, perhaps she’ll trust I’m not a one-night-stand type of creep.
I collect her bedding, then gently ease her head from the arm of the sofa, her body a dead but featherlight weight. Her eyelids flutter, so I pause and hold my breath, her soft cheek resting against my palm. Riles’s lashes aren’t spidey like Brittany’s, so I assume they’re not fake and won’t fall off into my hand, which is a relief. Body parts shouldn’t easily detach, and if any of Riles’s happen to snap free, I’d probably squeal like a piglet.
Barely exhaling, I carefully slide the pillow beneath her head before covering her with a blanket and stepping back, pleased with my stealth-like efforts. Thanks to Poppy, I’m experienced in this do-not-disturb artform. I’ve performed it many nights with astounding success.
I quietly rub my hands together, then head toward my bed when I remember Riles needs the AirPods.
Fuck!How the hell am I going to manage this?
I grip my hair again and scan her bedside table for the white case, finding it next to her cell.
Double fuck! She needs the app too.
Putting Poppy to bed is a shit-ton easier than this, and I suddenly regret ever whining about the process. I’ll take a six-year-old firecracker over an emotionally fragile and scarred woman any day. Cranky Poppy, I can handle. Cranky Riles, not so much.
Tiptoeing to her bed, I collect the AirPods and cell, and then I use her fingertip to activate the screen and gain access to the app. Heaven help me if she were to wake up at this precise moment—me hovering above her, trying to break into her phone. She’d no doubt forcefully eject me from the room to deck three… or call security to detain my ass.
Jesus Christ! I should just sleep in the bathtub.
I draw in a breath, tap on the white nose sound she listened to last, and then take an AirPod out and slowly guide it toward her ear, my hand trembling worse than a SWAT team member about to diffuse a bomb. Memories of playingOperation with Roni when we were younger flick to the forefront of my mind, and that only fries my nerves more. I sucked at that game. Touched the sides every time.
Gently puffing out my breath, I steady my wrist, carefully inch closer, and close one eye when I slot the AirPod into her ear.
Riles shrieks, her hand whipping up and cracking me in the nose.
“Fuck!” I groan, stumbling back.
“What the hell, Riley?” She scrambles to sit up, her wide eyes bouncing from me to various parts of the room as she secures her blanket to her chest. “What are you doing?”
“I was trying to put your AirPod in,” I mumble into my cupped hands.
“What?” She touches her ear. “Why?”
“Because you fell asleep. And because I didn’t want to move you. Jesus! I should’ve just whacked you with a pillow instead.”
She giggles. Fucking giggles.
“Are you okay?” she asks, raising her knees and hugging them to her chest, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth.
Blinking a few times, I wiggle my nose. “I was a minute ago.”
“Sorry,” she says, continuing to giggle.
“Yeah, so am I.”
“Do you need to see the nurse?” she quips.
“No.”
Slowly rising to her feet, she reduces the space between us. “I’m sorry, but that,” she says, pointing to my face, “was your fault.”
“Mine? I was trying to do the right thing.”
She tenderly touches the bridge of my nose, trailing her fingers to the tip before honking it. “You’ll live.”
