Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
She steps aside, and I stride in, heading to the fridge and putting the beer away. I’m starting to feel at home here in her apartment.
“Aw, is that a compliment?” she asks, following me.
“Was that a fishing question? Do I not give you enough compliments?”
She tilts her head down as if embarrassed before she responds. “You do. You’re good like that.” Clasping her hands, she rubs them together. “Let’s get this marathon going.” She walks to the coffee table and bends over. Although I should be ashamed for checking her out from behind, I’m not. Then again, I’m not sad about it either.
She squats, and her eyes meet mine. One major eye roll from her and I move to the couch . . . so I’m in front of her. Yeah, so she caught me. It’s not the first time and won’t be the last.
With five movie cases stacked in front of her, amused, I say, “You mean business today.”
She laughs. “A marathon means business. So what’s first? I have two girlie flicks, two testosterone movies, and a thriller.”
I lean forward, spreading the movies across the table. “Do you have a preference?”
“No, you can choose.”
“Hmm . . .” I look at each cover. I’ve seen two of them, but I don’t want to ruin this for her, so I don’t say anything. She went to a lot of trouble to get a variety, and I appreciate that. “How sleepy are you?”
“Pretty tired. I had an auction that went later than expected last night, and we were short two assistants. I didn’t get home until after eleven. Why?”
I hold up one of the guy movies. “This is the one.”
She smiles. “Perfect.”
Just as I suspected, twenty minutes in, and she’s fast asleep. The blinds are closed, and the room is dark except for the television screen. The movie was noisy, but I’ve turned it down to let her rest. This is one of the movies I’ve seen before. I picked it because I knew she’d fall asleep, and she did.
We’re lying lengthwise on the couch. My arm is draped over her ankles, my fingers toying with her socked feet. Over the next forty-five minutes, I watch her more than the movie. I’ve always thought it was strange when people say sappy things like “you look younger and more at peace when you sleep.” Until now. She makes me want to move down to her end of the couch and hold her, instead of her feet.
My mind lingers on the thought before I make my mind up to do it. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s cuddling. I mentally kick myself for using that word. Being cautious and slow, I work my way up and switch sides, sliding between her and the couch cushions. I stop breathing and stare as she adjusts, but she doesn’t wake, so I settle all the way down and tuck my arm under hers, holding her to me.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I did. When I wake up, it’s a little darker in the room, and she’s rolled my way, facing me, her bright, wide, happy eyes watching me. My eyes go wide, and excuses tumble from my mouth. “I . . . this isn’t . . . I guess I just fell—”
Her hand touches my cheek, and with a faint smile, she says, “It’s all right, Charlie. I like snuggling with you.”
“Is that what we were doing?”
She giggles, pushing my chest lightly. “You’re a snuggler. You’re a napper and a snuggler.”
“I prefer cuddler,” I say, just to clarify.
“Cuddler, snuggler. Same thing.”
“I can tell you’re rested by how fast you’re talking.”
“I’m not talking fast,” she declares, the words rushing out.
I close my eyes, still smiling. “C’mere.” With the arm that worked its way under her while we were sleeping, I roll her over so that her head is on my chest.
It’s nice that she doesn’t fight it. She even wraps her arm over my stomach, and I can feel her breathing level out.
“I like this,” she says, but I hear the worry in her tone. “I’ve never had a guy friend like this, one who I felt this close to before. Do friends do this?”
I embrace her fully with both arms and place a light kiss on the top of her head. “Yes, good friends can do this, and we do this.”
Around five thirty, we venture out to the grocery store down the street. Watching someone in their element is always so interesting. Charlie’s guard is down, and she’s feeling rejuvenated after the nap. She greets a checker by the name of Bill as she reaches for a basket. I take it from her, offering to carry it, and follow her to the small produce section of the corner market.
“What are you hungry for?” she asks.
“We’ve eaten Italian and Chinese together. How about Mexican tonight?”