Shut up! I screamed at myself.
I was not a babbler. Sure, I liked to talk a lot, you kind of had to when you had a kid that never shut up and when you were a waitress who relied almost entirely on tips.
But I considered myself reasonably articulate for someone without a college education, and I managed not to sound like a blithering idiot for almost my entire life.
And here I was.
Blithering. Idiot.
I was still riding off the adrenaline that the past day had pumped into my system. I felt wired. Manic almost, my body unsure of what to do with the undiluted cocktail of emotions that was coursing through my cells at the moment.
Lance shook his head.
Okay, so I was lost for words. I took a breath. “Um, okay, then. I’m not really sure how this works, do we meet up tomorrow? Do I call you every hour to tell you all is quiet on the Eastern Front?”
I really needed him out of my house. But then, I really didn’t. Because I was rather terrified at what would happen when I forced to decompress everything that happened. When I finally allowed myself to feel what I’d gone through.
I’d promised myself that I could cry, and I was scared I might never stop.
Lance was working as a distraction. A dam to the onslaught of saltwater that I’d be expelling through my tear ducts.
“I’m stayin’ here.”
It wasn’t a question. A request. It was a statement.
“Here? As in, in this house?” I clarified.
He nodded once.
I digested this. I hadn’t even become accustomed to him existing in this house, or on planet earth at all—because he had to be otherworldly for all his aura and power he seemed to have—and now he was trying to say he was going to be staying at the house? No freaking way.
Not because I worried about a strange man sleeping in the same house as my five-year-old son. I had a weird kind of feeling knowing that he would never hurt him. He’d just fricking saved him. Nathan was attached to him in a different way than I was of course, but that kid was a special judge of character.
It wasn’t Nathan I was worried about, he’d be thrilled to hear about this sleepover.
I could not handle this male energy in the house.
I wouldn’t sleep a wink.
But I’d feel safe.
And that couldn’t be. Just like I promised myself I’d never let a man make me feel unsafe again, I didn’t want my safety to be defined by a man. My anything to be defined.
“We don’t have a guest bedroom,” I said, though it was obvious since he’d already done a ‘walk through’ of the house that took about thirty seconds.
“You’ve got a sofa,” he said in way of reply.
I bit my lip. And looked from the sofa to him. “That sofa is too short for you. You’d be uncomfortable. Kink your neck. Then you couldn’t do your job, which I’m sure requires a fully mobile neck.”
What in the fresh hell was I even saying right now?
He watched me, or more accurately, it seemed like he was watching my mouth, and me capturing the lip between my teeth.
An unexpected and not entirely unpleasant heat shot in between my legs.
I ignored it. And stopped biting my lip.
“Slept on worse,” he said after a beat.
Seriously, did this man only speak in three syllables?
“I get up to pee a lot at night,” I blurted, desperate to find a reason he couldn’t stay. And it seemed I wasn’t above informing him of my bladder habits. My mouth kept moving. “I drink a lot of water, because no one ever drinks enough water and it’s super good for you. But I have a really small bladder and I pee a lot.”
Oh my god, why am I still talking about pee?
“It’s only gotten worse after Nathan,” I continued, seemingly possessed by someone with no social boundaries. “You know, childbirth kind of wreaks havoc… down there.”
Stop. Stop right now. You just referred to childbirth and the fact your vagina is effectively ruined to possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen up close.
“I mean, it all still works, I don’t pee myself or anything,” I said quickly.
For the love of God. You’re done now. Just done.
Nothing in his face moved. No amusement, he didn’t find me endearing in a dorky way. No, that much was apparent.
I sucked in a breath. What else could I do? I think talking about my pee and my vagina after the birth of my son was a good moment to tap out and hide in my room for the rest of time.
“Right,” I whispered. “I’ll just go and get you some blankets and…” I didn’t finish my sentence. I escaped the room.
I definitely took my sweet ass time retrieving the blankets from our linen cupboard. I was trying to calm myself down until I focused on the blankets I’d buried my face in and let out a little scream into.