“Nothing is wrong. I’m taking the day off, so I’ll keep an eye on her myself.”
“You’re taking the day OFF? Are you sick?”
He’s being annoying. “No, I just want the day off. I have work to do from home, but no business today. You can spend today looking into that issue we discussed regarding Mia’s past.”
“I don’t understand. Did something happen to Mia?”
“Everything is fine,” I type back. “I will see you at dinner and you can tell me what you found.”
I have a hunch Adrian is still dissatisfied with this response, but he’s not my boss; I don’t have to explain myself to him.
With that matter settled, I put my phone back on my nightstand and draw Mia closer. She shifts with me while I get more comfortable with her in my arms, then naturally settles against me, still asleep.
It should occur to me that I’m in trouble when I hold her close and kiss the top of her head while she sleeps. I’m sexually satisfied, she’s not even awake, yet still I want to hold her closer, touch her, kiss her.
It’s been years since I’ve had that urge with a woman. I don’t know if it’s just because Mia is the first woman I’ve had in my bed again—not that I’ve slept with, obviously, but that I’ve brought into my personal space, into my bedroom, into my house.
I tell myself it’s that, but it feels like a lie.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to deal with this right now and I don’t want to, so instead I turn off my brain, breathe in the sweet scent of coconut, and try to fall back asleep.
—
When my eyes open again, it’s bright outside.
That’s quite an abnormality for me. Occasionally on Sundays I sleep in, but ordinarily I begin every day before the sun rises. I like it that way.
Of course, I can’t complain about this, either. Mia is still slumbering. She’s a late sleeper if no one wakes her up—I swear to God, the girl could spend 12 hours a day in bed if you let her. I wake her up every morning to fuck her, but when I’m done, she goes right back to sleep.
Her face is serene as she sleeps with her face against my chest, her arm around my waist. Her long hair falls over my right bicep.
I wonder if she’s hungry.
She’s sleeping now, obviously, but surely she’ll be hungry when she wakes up. I grab my phone to see what time it is—9:18. Damn. Half the morning’s already gone. I grab my phone and shoot a text to Maria to see what she’s doing. Her morning routine has been interrupted with Mia’s presence in my room this week. Ordinarily, she would have my bedding changed and my room set to rights by now, but since Mia is on lockdown, she’s unable to do that. Breakfast would also be over by now on any given Saturday, but since I lazed here in bed all morning, I didn’t eat.
Once she texts me back, I tell her to make my breakfast—two plates of it, so Mia can eat with me. She’s probably as surprised as Adrian that I’m home in bed, but at least Maria doesn’t annoy me about it.
As much as I hate to, I ease out from under Mia so I can slip in the bathroom before Maria comes up. I consider taking a quick shower, but then I think about showering with Mia instead. I have uninterrupted hours at my disposal; I can definitely get her in this shower with me.
That sounds so much more appealing than showering alone.
Images of her in the shower warm my blood again. I’m tempted to go wake her up, but Maria’s coming up. I might not have much decency, but I do have enough not to fuck Mia when Maria could walk in on us.
I’ll save it for the shower.
I pull on a pair of black sweats since Maria’s coming in and dig out my laptop. I don’t do much work from my bedroom. I suppose it’s not unreasonable that Adrian assumed I was sick; that’s the only time I ever take days off, and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been sick in my adult life.
I wonder if Mia’s a baby when she’s sick.
What a fucking weird thing to wonder about.
The indigestion comes back. Maybe it’s not indigestion. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s unsettling. I’m not a man accustomed to emotional stirring of any sort. I don’t flinch when I kill a man at this point, so fantasizing about caring for a damned girl in her time of sickness—it’s fucking stupid, that’s what it is.
Maria knocks at the door, saving me from whatever idiotic things my mind might wonder about next. Her gaze hits me briefly, but she pauses and looks a moment longer when she sees I’m in sweats.