doesn’t mean it. “You make me feel cheap.” He sniffs like I’ve wounded him, but his eyes are dancing with playfulness.
“You want to have a sleepover?” I ask. I do his eye closing thing and stare at him through my left one.
“A sleepover?” He motions from me to him and back. “Me and you?”
“I don’t see anybody else,” I toss back.
He grins. “Are you going to molest me?”
I shake my head. I’m still waiting for those test results, after all. “I don’t plan to, but if I get a little handsy in my sleep, you can’t blame me for it.”
“If you don’t get a little handsy in your sleep,” he says close to my ear, “then I’m going to be pretty damn disappointed.” His voice isn’t much more than a purr, and if I wasn’t sick, I’m sure it would have shot straight to my toes. He kisses my cheek. “I will have to go check on Wilbur, though. I’m afraid he’ll go to the tent and I won’t be there.”
I grin. “He can sleepover here, too.”
He narrows his eyes as he stares at me. “Are you sure? He’s not housebroken.”
Wilbur is important to Ethan, and Ethan is important to me. “I’m sure,” I say. I grab the UNO cards and go to the bed. After two hands, I can’t keep my eyes open any more.
Ethan reads a book next to me, after he finds one of my books on the nightstand and cracks it open. It’s a romance novel that immediately enthralls him. When I ask him about it, he replies with a flippant, “Real men read romance.” Then he dives right back into the book. Around midnight, he goes to his tent and comes back with a quacking duck who follows him right into the house, complaining all the while.
“Apparently, he was pissed that I wasn’t there when he finally came home. He’s been talking shit ever since I walked up to the tent.” Ethan makes a small nest of blankets for him next to the bed, and the duck settles in, curling into a ball.
Then Ethan goes and takes a quick shower, and he comes out wearing a pair of boxers and an old threadbare t-shirt. He gets in between the covers and I lean over him to look at Wilbur, who is sleeping soundly, totally trusting his new surroundings.
“Do you think he loves her yet?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me, but he does freeze. I feel his body tense. Then he relaxes and lets out a deep breath. He smiles at me. “If he doesn’t yet, I’m pretty sure he’s almost there.”
My heart surges and every hair on my arms stands tall. Because I’m feeling exactly the same. “She’s a lucky duck,” I say quietly. Then I burrow into his side, lift his shirt, and lay my palm on his abs. I tickle him lightly, which makes him laugh and grab for my hands.
“Behave,” he says. But he’s smiling. He flattens my palm and presses it against his naked skin. “If you can behave yourself, I’ll let you stay there.”
“No promises.” I kiss his shoulder and close my eyes.
27
Ethan
The next morning, I wake up with Abigail wrapped around me. I tip my chin so I can look down, and I see that her head is on my chest and her arm wrapped around me, her hand tucked into the waistband of my boxers. Wilbur pecks my elbow from his side of the bed, and I look over at him.
“What?” I hiss. I really don’t want to move. I want to stay wrapped in this cocoon of comfort. It has been a long time since I’ve been cuddled, and I am absolutely loathing the idea of moving.
“Does he need to go out?” Abigail asks, her voice sleepy and quiet. Her breath moves across my chin as she lifts her head to look up at me. Abigail’s hair is curly and all over the place on a normal day. But now, it’s sticking up in wayward strands of curls at odd angles. She frowns when she sees my smile. “What?” She sits back a few inches and furrows her brow. “Why are you smiling?”
I pull her back to me, because two inches is suddenly too far away. “Your hand is in my shorts.” I whisper. I flex my abs so that her hand wiggles. She jerks her hand back.
“It was not,” she cries out indignantly. Her voice is hoarse, and her nose is stuffy from sleep.