Funny Feelings (67)

“Oh.” He blinks. “Well. That was smart.”

I nod, meekly.

“At the end of the day, Fee, you’re telling jokes. It’s in the job description. No one knows what’s true or not. No one knows that you’re giving them… you, when you’re up there. Sure, sometimes you put on a caricature of yourself, but you get what I’m saying, right? Don’t let them have you all the way.”

I nod again. “I know. I won’t… I won’t tell it again, either. I don’t need to.”

He inhales, his chest rising. “If you don’t want to, then don’t. If you do, then fuck them. It’s a good bit about how kids can bring out the best along with the worst in us. Do what feels true to you, though, don’t let me or anyone else persuade you otherwise.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry that happened, Fee.”

I shrug. “Me too.”

“Do you want to rest?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. Please stay,” I respond, probably too firmly.

He nods silently, and I move past him to crawl into bed.

I watch him as he takes himself apart, then, piece by piece. First, with his shirt. I can’t help but smile at how he carefully folds it and slips it into a bag I assume is for dirty laundry. So precise, and measured. So much forethought. I certainly didn’t think to pack a separate bag for my dirty things even though I’ll need to do laundry occasionally over the next couple weeks. My travel clothes are still strewn over the nearest chair from when I changed earlier.

His shoulders are miles wide, the well-defined valley of his spine between them. Shadows play on the dips and swells, and I chew my lip wondering how many pens he might be able to store between those two blades. The sound of his belt slipping through the loops zips through me, my breath hitching. He turns and smirks when he catches my eye.

“Jonesy, I’m gonna need you to stop looking at me that way.”

“What way?”

He ignores my feigned ignorance. “Because this isn’t a night that calls for a distraction. I don’t want… I don’t want us overshadowed by the other events of the night.”

“Okay,” I whisper, hoping the pout isn’t obvious. But, he’s right. I’m depleted. I’m sad. And ashamed, and angry, and confused. I don’t want to be… this version of myself with him. Not in that way, tonight. I just want to find my rest with him tonight.

But then he slides his jeans off, folds them just as deliberately as his shirt before slipping them into the bag, and stands to his full height.

My gulp echoes in my ears.

He’s a God underneath those unassuming layers. Absolute honed perfection. And the juxtaposition of the tiny, self-conscious tug he gives to the right side of his briefs somehow makes him that much more to me.

Mine, mine, mine, I think.

I don’t know how I ever thought I could stand him being anything less. He’s awash in the cool gray-green of the night shining through the window; marble-like if not for the twitch of his hands at his sides, and the roll of his jaw when my eyes make their way back up to his.

I slam my eyes shut when he makes his first stride my way, not trusting myself to not stare at more inappropriate places, effectively ruining any thoughts of rest I could hope to have, now or in the foreseeable future.

I feel him slide under the covers, his warmth caressing the backs of my thighs and making me grit my teeth against the urge to scoot closer.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, and I nod, my face making a swish, swish against the pillow.

He wraps me up against him from head to toe, my back to his front.

God is not a woman, I think. At least not a sympathetic one, tonight. Because the feel of his warm, hard body against mine is almost enough to make me forget my better judgment.

He smoothes some of my hair down before tucking my head under his chin.

“I wanted you in my arms when I said this to you so you couldn’t turn away from it, Fee,” he whispers gruffly, his hold on me tightening. “But, you will make an amazing, incredible mother one day.” I choke on an instantly thick inhale. “You might not always have to deal with some of the less fun parts of it, but you’ve already played a mothering role in Hazel’s life from the moment you slammed through the doors at Lance’s. You protect her, even when you’re pushing her. You care. You teach. You’re generous with your time and you’re a fierce advocate for her in everything. No matter what happens with you and I, ever, I want you to know, again, that you’ve earned your place in her life. I think… I think her mother would have been ok with me telling you that.”

“Thank you,” I say through a sob, relief flooding through me at his words. I didn’t realize how much I needed them. I close my eyes, a final few tears spilling through my lashes before sleep takes me.





29





NOW





MEYER


I’ve technically spent the night with Fee numerous times. There’s always been a hallway, a guest bathroom, or a floor or two between us, though.

So, when I wake up at five with morning wood and a dead arm, I react to the sight and scent of her by panic-flailing my body out of the bed with all the grace of a reanimated corpse. I have no idea how it doesn’t rouse her, but it’s a testament to how tired she is that she manages to stay asleep through the shuffling.