over piles of laundry, and I grab my comforter off the floor and spread it across my bed. I pat the edge and nod for her to have a seat.
I make my way across the room, pulling a drawer from my dresser and rifling around until I find a t-shirt that isn’t fifty stains of construction brown. I toss it at her and she catches it in mid-air.
“Thanks.” She peels off her peasant-looking blouse and pulls the t-shirt over her head. When she stands a second later, she shimmies her hips until her skirt falls to the ground.
My t-shirt hangs down enough to cover her ass cheeks. I can only hope she doesn’t notice the slight swell in my pants right now.
Calypso yawns, sliding back on her hands until she reaches the head of the bed. Slipping her legs one by one under the covers, she sinks back into a mountain of pillows. My mountain. I can’t sleep without at least five pillows built around me in a semi-circle fortress.
I glance at the one leftover pillow on the opposite side of the bed.
I’ll let her have my pillow fortress tonight. If she stays another night, then we’ll talk.
“I’m going to check on Emme really quick, then I’ll be back. You need anything?”
She shakes her head, covering her pouty lips as her mouth circles into yet another yawn. I bet she’ll be passed out before I get back.
I can’t sleep.
I need my pillow mountain.
And I’m distracted by the lavender-scented beauty hogging all my covers.
Each time she tosses and turns, the blankets wrap around her. She’s a human burrito, warm in my covers, and I’m laying here with my one flat pillow and half of my right leg under what little blankets I have left.
If she were anyone else, I’d jerk the covers my way until they were equally proportioned, but Calypso’s had a rough day. I’ll sacrifice a little sleep so she can get hers.
Karma.
That’s what it is.
Karma for all those sleepless nights.
I turn to my side, away from Calypso. Clear my throat. Close my eyes. Attempt to shut my mind off.
According to the alarm clock, I’ve been tossing and turning for three hours now.
Twelve minutes pass, and I’m no closer than I was before. I roll back to my other side to come face to face with Calypso. Her face scrunches, and she slides her hand under one of my pillows and presses her cheek harder against it.
I wonder if she always looks this pissed when she sleeps? Maybe she’s having a bad dream.
I shut my eyes, breathing in the warm air that mixes between us.
Emme wakes around seven. If I go to sleep now, I’ll get five hours of sleep.
It’s freezing in here. The ceiling fan above creates a cool draft I’ve come to very much rely on, but without any covers it’s a fucking arctic tundra in here. I may as well be sleeping in an igloo tonight.
“Crew. Go. To. Sleep.” Calypso mumbles through a clenched jaw.
“You’re awake.”
“You won’t stop moving.” Her eyes part. We’re side by side and face to face.
“You’re hogging the covers.”
She glances down, trying to pull her arms out of the little cocoon she’s tucked herself into. Adjusting the blankets a bit more, she sighs.
“There. Sorry.”
Our body heats mix under the covers. Warmth radiates off her. I’m not the spooning type, but damn, is it tempting.
“You’re an ice block.” She scoots away.
I smirk in the dark, wondering what she’d do if I shoved my ice block hands up the hem of her t-shirt.
“I’m wide awake.” I inch toward her. Even a fraction of her heat should help me thaw out.
She turns toward me, groaning. “Me too. Mind won’t shut off.”
“What are you thinking about?” I’d rather lie here listening to what’s on her mind than spend another waking moment listening to the sound of silence.
Calypso’s lips frown at the corners. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Elijah.”
“Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”
“Don’t give that asshole another second of your day. I’ll take care of everything tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do?” She half-chuckles. “You live minute by minute. Going to tell me you’ve got some kind of plan?”
“Maybe,” I lie.
“I don’t want to drag you into any of this.”
“I don’t mind. It’s nice not worrying about my own shit for once.” I inch closer. “Besides, I’m not scared to tell some fucking dweeb named Elijah from Cultland, USA to stay the fuck away from you.”
She laughs. “It’s not a cult. And he’s not a