After Dark (The Night Owl Trilogy #3)(41)

I twisted the box out of her grip and lifted it, my arm stretched toward the ceiling. I raised a brow. She didn’t even try to reach for it. Too bad … would have been cute.

“It’s a gift. But I don’t want you to have it yet. Give it to me.”

“Pout prettily and I will.” I smiled.

“Matt…” Her voice hardened with warning.

“Let me hold you, then, and I won’t ask about it. And I’ll give it back.”

She glared up at me, but she nodded. I tossed the box onto our bed. Something inside shifted. I dropped my sleeping bag and pulled her into my arms.

She’d changed into tiny, soft shorts and a cami. A burst of honeysuckle scent rose from her hair. I nuzzled my nose into her curls and sighed, my hands roaming.

“Don’t make me sleep in the TV room. I’m lonely for you…” I wedged her shorts between her legs and cupped her ass. She trembled and held my hip with one hand.

If only we could talk, I could fix things. Hannah didn’t want my children. That was a problem. I could fix it. And she was pissed about Last Light. I could fix that, too.

“Hannah—”

“Go,” she said.

*

I woke to the sound of the condo door closing.

“Bird,” I mumbled. I tried to sit up and flopped over, stuck in my mummy bag. “Ah, for f*ck’s sake.”

My shoulders ached. My back was stiff.

I wriggled out of the sleeping bag and prowled into the kitchen.

Somehow, Hannah had slipped off to work without waking me. She must have skipped breakfast. I frowned and contemplated the door.

Were we having a serious fight?

She’d upset me last night; I’d upset her. Then I’d barged into the bedroom for makeup sex (or conversation, at least) and she shut me down … again.

When did we last f*ck, anyway?

I wrote a text—I need sex—and deleted it. Stupid. “Grow the f*ck up,” I grumbled. Still, some fearful little voice piped up in my brain, warning me that marriage was more of this—a creeping siege, a war of attrition. Never before had Hannah locked me out of our bedroom. Now, with a ring on her finger, she’d ordered me out of our bed twice. And I’d rolled over like a well-trained dog. What next?

Tomorrow I could wake up and be that guy who only gets a blow job on his birthday.

I shuddered.

My morning coffee tasted bland. I skipped my run and searched the condo for a note from Hannah, but I found nothing. She’d re-hid the present and made our bed.

I retreated to the office and checked my e-mail.

My mood lifted when I saw a new e-mail from Hannah.

Subject: Camping in the TV room

Sender: Hannah Catalano

Date: Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Time: 6:50 AM

Sweet Matt,

I’m sorry I sent you out of the bedroom last night. I needed alone time … to think. Exhibitionism? I have so many questions. I want to know more. I’m not scared; I’m curious. Do you really have a journal?

I’m also sorry I flew off the handle about Last Light. You need to understand that you put me in a terrible position by sending the novel to Pam without warning me. (Yes, I would be amenable to a meeting with her. I’ll set it up.) Chapter 3 is attached. I’d accuse you of hijacking my story, but it’s always been our story, hasn’t it? Let’s make it good. You’re It, Matt.



Love,



The Bossy Bird



P.S. Ready to start house-shopping when you are.



P.P.S. Snuck out of the bedroom to kiss you good night. You were sound asleep.



Attachments (2): UNTITLED.doc



TIGER.JPG

I opened the attached image.

It was a picture of me asleep on the floor of the TV room, my body halfway outside the sleeping bag. My bare arms and back sprawled over the area rug. Tiger? I replied to the e-mail before reading her chapter.

Subject: Roar

Sender: Matthew R. Sky, Jr.

Date: Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Time: 8:39 AM

Tiger, huh?

Happy July, baby. You mind if we reenact last year’s Fourth? Fond memories … and I don’t mean the fireworks.

Can’t wait to read your chapter. I’ve missed writing with you.



Matt



P.S. I’ll look into a realtor.



P.P.S. I need sex.

I typed out a third postscript: Btw no kids isn’t a deal breaker but are you sure? The cursor blinked steadily, ambivalently. I sneered.

Btw? Deal breaker?

Who the hell was I kidding?

The thought that Hannah didn’t want a family with me cut me to the bone.

I backspaced the last postscript and sent my reply, and then I opened Hannah’s Word document. Chapter 3. Where would she take this? I craved her impressions.

The chapter began with … Hannah’s lunch break?

She’d met a stranger that day … shared her table at the Mediterranean deli.

My jaw clenched.

Hannah described the stranger as a pretty, petite woman with fawn brown hair … straight, fine hair to her shoulders … a small, fit body.

I didn’t need to read the rest, but I did, anyway. The woman claimed to have a friend who once dated me. She dropped an ominous hint. Is he really into all that weird stuff?