Every time his mom left the dinner table, or her spot beside him on the couch. Every time they were out, and she’d walk away from him, only ever for a minute or two. Even when he was sick, his most sick—in bed, in the hospital—he did it. Any time she left his side.
Oh, he was awake now.
He pushed himself up when Nora left the room, then blinked at the brightness cast his way when she flicked on the bathroom light. But as he heard the door creak shut, he was slowly sent into darkness again, a catch in his breath as he tried to shake off that brief, ill-timed trip to his own personal underworld. Waking up this way, that had been a mistake.
With Nora, he had to be more careful.
He swallowed, rubbing a hand across his chest and then reaching for his own phone beside Nora’s. 4:59, not that he needed to check again, but this time, with his brain back in the game, he could remember the practicalities. Last night, what they’d agreed to was sex; what they’d agreed on was that they were good together—for this, and in secret. But this morning, he had to remember: it would cause trouble for Nora, him being here too late. It would cause trouble for him, too—for the apartment down below, for the business he was basically running out of a place everyone else here called home.
For his heart.
Right, yeah—should he get up? No, that would be a coward’s way out, getting up and getting himself dressed when he’d all but told her to come back to him. The least he could do was wait, and anyway, he ought to let this erection settle down before he even attempted pants. He rubbed his palms down his thighs, attempting some semblance of focus: later today he had a shift at the clinic; tomorrow he should probably deal with bills. The tenant that was coming on Tuesday, did he owe her an email? He ought to—
He heard the bathroom door opening, light sneaking into the room again, and he suddenly felt more sheepish than he might’ve if she’d found him already dressed. It was probably weirder to be sitting up like this, halfway to going, but not really committing to it.
“So,” she said, a smile in her voice as she came into the room. “Now you think it’s morning.”
She came to stand in front of him, and when he raised his head, she surprised him, gently settling his glasses on his face. He swallowed, looking her over—a long, silky robe tied loosely at her waist, sheer where the soft light hit it. Nothing about him was settling down now.
“No,” he lied, reaching out to catch at the delicate tie at her waist. Safe to hold on to that, at least.
“I’m sorry to say, I really think you’ll have to go now,” she teased, and he groaned, dropping his head to rest against her stomach. “What if Marian has her checkpoint set up?”
He laughed miserably. He should go. He knew he should; he’d decided. But for long seconds, he rested like that in silence, utterly stymied. He couldn’t stay this morning; he knew all the reasons he had to be careful. But he didn’t want last night’s first to be the last, not yet.
And he didn’t think Nora did, either.
He looked up, a delicious practicality hitting him. A reason to come back.
“Nora,” he said, and she hmmed? in response, her hand stroking softly, absently, through his hair. “When you were in your bathroom just now . . . did you happen to notice anything about your faucet?”
Her hand stilled in his hair, and then she took a step back. Damn, he thought, his stomach sinking.
But when he looked up at her, he was grateful she’d brought his glasses, grateful he could see the fullness of her expression: her hands on her hips, a look on her face that was deliberately, comically determined.
“As a matter of fact,” she said, giving him that big, break-of-day smile. “I did.”
Chapter 13
“So what you’re saying is,” Deepa said, her chin resting in one hand, a lipstick-printed glass of wine held loosely in the other, “you’re trading your sexual favors for bathroom fixtures.”
Nora laughed and blushed, taking a sip from her own glass and blinking away from the screen of her laptop, which she’d set up on a stack