The house was dark when I opened the bathroom door, a dim light coming from the bedroom.
Eddie was in bed, on his side, covers up to his waist, chest bare, head in his hand, eyes on me, face stil unreadable.
Eek!
I turned off the light, slid off my shoes, tore off the dress and pul ed on the camisole that was stil lying on my bag but I left the bottoms for another day.
I crawled into bed and settled, my back to him.
Eddie didn’t move.
“Thanks for letting me in,” I said to the wal , attempting to gauge his mood.
No response.
“Good night,” I tried.
He moved, settling in, obviously on his back, not touching me and not speaking either.
Hmm.
There were a few of problems with this. First; I was wide-awake and coasting on a serious wave of adrenalin, adrenalin that needed to be worked out somehow (and I knew how I’d prefer it to be worked out). Second; I was too freaking shy to do anything about it, definitely I wasn’t able to make the first move. Last; I was pretty certain Eddie was ticked off so even if I wasn’t too shy, he clearly wasn’t in the mood.
Instead, I fidgeted, I moved, I turned and I tried to count sheep.
I was rearranging my pil ows for the third time when Eddie’s arm came out and hauled me across the bed, tucking me into his side.
Final y.
“Jazzed?” he asked.
“Um… yeah.”
“Stun-gunning angry black women in bars on Colfax’l do that to you.”
Wonderful.
Darius told on me.
“Darius,” I said.
Eddie didn’t answer.
“I tried to be a mediator, I swear. I even offered to buy her a drink. But apparently Indy stun-gunned her a few months ago. Then she cal ed Al y a bee-atch, which Al y didn’t like. Then she punched Daisy in the eye. Then Daisy jumped her and Al y jumped them and they started rol ing around on the floor. Then some other woman shoved Indy and—”
Eddie interrupted me. “You can stop talkin’ now.” I closed my mouth and laid there a second, pressed up against his warm, hard body.
Then (I swear, I couldn’t help it, it was the adrenalin, and maybe a little of my newfound coolness) I ran my hand down his chest, across his abs, then back over his chest and my fingernail might have somewhat-purposeful y snagged his nipple.
He grabbed my wrist and held my hand where it was.
“You tired?” I whispered.
“It’s after one in the morning,” he replied, but didn’t answer my question.
I thought about this and came up with a solution.
“I’l do al the work,” I said quietly.