Sweet Dreams
Page 90
“Sweet dreams, baby,” he whispered into my hair, his arm giving me a squeeze. “See you on the other side.”
“You too, Captain,” I whispered back and stared at the light clay colored pillowcase in front of me, the water-colored brushstrokes of sun hitting it.
He’d noticed the sheets.
I felt Buster jump up on the bed, she walked up Tate’s and my legs to our h*ps and then back down and her weight disappeared. She tucked herself into the crook of our knees, likely curled and ready to resume her Crazy Neeta disturbed sleep.
It didn’t take her or her master long; both of them were out within minutes.
I didn’t know it but it took me precisely two minutes longer to join them.
Chapter Eighteen
Curtains
“Ace,” I heard Tate call and my eyes fluttered open.
My neck twisted and I saw he was sitting on the bed but was leaned down, forearm in the mattress, other hand on my waist, his face close to mine.
“What?” I asked, mind fogged with sleep.
“Curtains,” he answered and I closed my eyes.
“You can get them. That big home store, outside the mall. They have a wide variety,” I informed him and snuggled my head into the pillow.
“Laurie,” he called.
“Mm?” I answered.
“Babe, wake up,” he ordered and my eyes opened again.
I looked at the clock. It was just after eleven. Way too early. No way I was getting up.
I closed my eyes again.
His hand slid from my waist, to my hip and back to my behind as I felt his presence invade the space around me.
“Baby, you did my laundry,” I heard him whisper in my ear.
His words tugged forcefully at the sleep that had hold of me and my body tensed.
“And cleaned my house,” he went on whispering.
I turned my face partially into the pillow and pressed in as the edges of sleep started to separate with jagged little tears that I knew, from experience, would never mend.
“And the fridge,” he continued.
“Quiet,” I muttered, the word muffled in the pillow.
“Fridge is jammed, babe, more food than it’s ever seen.”
This was true. Seeing as I had a full, clean fridge for the first time in months, not to mention a kitchen, a couple of days before I went a little nuts at the grocery store.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
“We got grape Kool-Aid.”
“Go. Away.”
“In a new pitcher.”
I turned my face fully into the pillow and groaned.
His beard tickled my shoulder and then his lips kissed me there.
“Sweet pitcher, babe. Never owned one of those.”
In the window of the little country shop (that happened to be two doors down from the grocery store) they had these adorable, big, old-fashioned glass pitchers with a beautiful shape, dimpled glass and they were tinted pink. Now Tate had this pitcher.
They also had matching glasses. Tate probably didn’t look but the glasses were in the cupboard.
I lifted my head, his body jerked back a foot and I glared at his grinning, arrogant, beautiful face.
“Go! Away!” I snapped and then suddenly I was on my feet by the bed and just as suddenly I was in front of Tate, his hands at my hips, and I was moving toward the bathroom. “Tate!”
“Seein’ as you’re up, time to shower,” he stated, shoving me into the bathroom.
I twisted my head around and gave him a look.
“You think you’re funny but you… are… not.”
He whipped my body around, his arm went around my waist and held me close to his t-shirted, jeaned front and he reached beyond me, opening the door to the shower. He turned on the taps, the water shot down and he looked down at me.
“Curtains,” he muttered.
I glared up at him then muttered back, “Whatever,” turned to the shower, stuck my hand in, found it was hot, yanked off his tee that I was wearing and stepped in, firmly closing the door behind me.
* * * * *
I was still nursing my grudge at all things Tate, (primarily his waking me up, being arrogant, and finding his morning amusing after I had the worst night of my life, a night that contained Brad, Neeta and the unexpected knowledge of ten year old Jonas) when Tate, me beside him, drove his Explorer into Carnal on our way to the mall.
I had been silent all morning as I got ready, something Tate found funny if the amount of times I saw him grin, smile or heard him chuckle was any indication as he came in and out of the bedroom or stood at the counter in the kitchen sifting through his piles of post while I was preparing for my day, making the bed, replacing the be-shammed pillows and getting myself coffee.
I spied the coffee shop and fairly shouted, “La-La Land!”
Tate’s head turned to me. “Come again?”
“Stop. Park. Coffee. Orgasmic bread. Now,” I demanded.
“Orgasmic bread?” Tate asked.
“Tate, you’re passing it!” I cried desperately as we went passed, my head turning to watch the shop through the window. “Park!”
Tate braked and swung into a parking spot three doors down from La-La Land. He barely had the ignition switched off before I had the door open, hopped down, slammed the door and was motoring.
I was nearly there when I was hooked with an arm across my chest and pulled back into the solidness that was all Tate.
“Hang on there, Ace, the shop isn’t gonna go up in a puff of smoke,” he said into my hair as I forced us forward even though we were locked together.
“Unh-hunh,” I said back, pushed open the door to La-La Land and entered, pulling Tate with me.
“Flower Petal!” Shambles cried upon seeing me, his face lighting up behind his blue tinted, round sunglasses then his eyes went to Tate and his face froze.
Sunny’s head popped up down the counter.
“Petal,” she smiled at me and her smile didn’t waiver when her eyes went to Tate and she watched as, still locked together, he moved us to the counter.
“Hey guys, what’s today’s theme?” I asked.
“Who’s that?” Shambles asked, stealthily moving away from the front counter toward the back.
“Ignore him, I am,” I stated audaciously, seeing as Tate still had his arm around me, and I looked in the display case. “Let me guess, chocolate?”
That wasn’t so much a guess as a dream.
Tate’s other arm joined his first wrapped around my chest.
“Lemon,” Sunny answered and came to stand in front of Tate and I at the counter. “Hey dude, I’m Sunny,” she said to Tate.
“You too, Captain,” I whispered back and stared at the light clay colored pillowcase in front of me, the water-colored brushstrokes of sun hitting it.
He’d noticed the sheets.
I felt Buster jump up on the bed, she walked up Tate’s and my legs to our h*ps and then back down and her weight disappeared. She tucked herself into the crook of our knees, likely curled and ready to resume her Crazy Neeta disturbed sleep.
It didn’t take her or her master long; both of them were out within minutes.
I didn’t know it but it took me precisely two minutes longer to join them.
Chapter Eighteen
Curtains
“Ace,” I heard Tate call and my eyes fluttered open.
My neck twisted and I saw he was sitting on the bed but was leaned down, forearm in the mattress, other hand on my waist, his face close to mine.
“What?” I asked, mind fogged with sleep.
“Curtains,” he answered and I closed my eyes.
“You can get them. That big home store, outside the mall. They have a wide variety,” I informed him and snuggled my head into the pillow.
“Laurie,” he called.
“Mm?” I answered.
“Babe, wake up,” he ordered and my eyes opened again.
I looked at the clock. It was just after eleven. Way too early. No way I was getting up.
I closed my eyes again.
His hand slid from my waist, to my hip and back to my behind as I felt his presence invade the space around me.
“Baby, you did my laundry,” I heard him whisper in my ear.
His words tugged forcefully at the sleep that had hold of me and my body tensed.
“And cleaned my house,” he went on whispering.
I turned my face partially into the pillow and pressed in as the edges of sleep started to separate with jagged little tears that I knew, from experience, would never mend.
“And the fridge,” he continued.
“Quiet,” I muttered, the word muffled in the pillow.
“Fridge is jammed, babe, more food than it’s ever seen.”
This was true. Seeing as I had a full, clean fridge for the first time in months, not to mention a kitchen, a couple of days before I went a little nuts at the grocery store.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
“We got grape Kool-Aid.”
“Go. Away.”
“In a new pitcher.”
I turned my face fully into the pillow and groaned.
His beard tickled my shoulder and then his lips kissed me there.
“Sweet pitcher, babe. Never owned one of those.”
In the window of the little country shop (that happened to be two doors down from the grocery store) they had these adorable, big, old-fashioned glass pitchers with a beautiful shape, dimpled glass and they were tinted pink. Now Tate had this pitcher.
They also had matching glasses. Tate probably didn’t look but the glasses were in the cupboard.
I lifted my head, his body jerked back a foot and I glared at his grinning, arrogant, beautiful face.
“Go! Away!” I snapped and then suddenly I was on my feet by the bed and just as suddenly I was in front of Tate, his hands at my hips, and I was moving toward the bathroom. “Tate!”
“Seein’ as you’re up, time to shower,” he stated, shoving me into the bathroom.
I twisted my head around and gave him a look.
“You think you’re funny but you… are… not.”
He whipped my body around, his arm went around my waist and held me close to his t-shirted, jeaned front and he reached beyond me, opening the door to the shower. He turned on the taps, the water shot down and he looked down at me.
“Curtains,” he muttered.
I glared up at him then muttered back, “Whatever,” turned to the shower, stuck my hand in, found it was hot, yanked off his tee that I was wearing and stepped in, firmly closing the door behind me.
* * * * *
I was still nursing my grudge at all things Tate, (primarily his waking me up, being arrogant, and finding his morning amusing after I had the worst night of my life, a night that contained Brad, Neeta and the unexpected knowledge of ten year old Jonas) when Tate, me beside him, drove his Explorer into Carnal on our way to the mall.
I had been silent all morning as I got ready, something Tate found funny if the amount of times I saw him grin, smile or heard him chuckle was any indication as he came in and out of the bedroom or stood at the counter in the kitchen sifting through his piles of post while I was preparing for my day, making the bed, replacing the be-shammed pillows and getting myself coffee.
I spied the coffee shop and fairly shouted, “La-La Land!”
Tate’s head turned to me. “Come again?”
“Stop. Park. Coffee. Orgasmic bread. Now,” I demanded.
“Orgasmic bread?” Tate asked.
“Tate, you’re passing it!” I cried desperately as we went passed, my head turning to watch the shop through the window. “Park!”
Tate braked and swung into a parking spot three doors down from La-La Land. He barely had the ignition switched off before I had the door open, hopped down, slammed the door and was motoring.
I was nearly there when I was hooked with an arm across my chest and pulled back into the solidness that was all Tate.
“Hang on there, Ace, the shop isn’t gonna go up in a puff of smoke,” he said into my hair as I forced us forward even though we were locked together.
“Unh-hunh,” I said back, pushed open the door to La-La Land and entered, pulling Tate with me.
“Flower Petal!” Shambles cried upon seeing me, his face lighting up behind his blue tinted, round sunglasses then his eyes went to Tate and his face froze.
Sunny’s head popped up down the counter.
“Petal,” she smiled at me and her smile didn’t waiver when her eyes went to Tate and she watched as, still locked together, he moved us to the counter.
“Hey guys, what’s today’s theme?” I asked.
“Who’s that?” Shambles asked, stealthily moving away from the front counter toward the back.
“Ignore him, I am,” I stated audaciously, seeing as Tate still had his arm around me, and I looked in the display case. “Let me guess, chocolate?”
That wasn’t so much a guess as a dream.
Tate’s other arm joined his first wrapped around my chest.
“Lemon,” Sunny answered and came to stand in front of Tate and I at the counter. “Hey dude, I’m Sunny,” she said to Tate.
