Funny Feelings (73)

“Ready?” she asks.

I glance up and take her in, so much relief blooming it’s way through me at the notion that I can. That I can look her up and down so openly. That I can stand up and press her to me, such a contrast in our layers now to all the times we’ve been pressed skin to skin these last days.

I kiss her lips and she hums her approval.

“Oh wait, do we have time to call Haze before we go?” she asks, amber eyes rounding. Christ, how did I wait so long to tell this woman I love her?

I check my watch, “Plenty.”

We shuffle some of the debris out of the sightline of the phone before perching it on the desk. Fee sits on my lap, but immediately checks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes. I, uh… I actually already talked to her about us. I asked her if she would be okay with you becoming more to me.”

“And?” she asks, eyes searching. As if it was really ever a question.

“Of course she was okay with it,” I shake my head, chuckling softly. “She said she would like that. Her only request was that we not kiss with tongue in front of her.”

A laugh bubbles out of her, eyes filling. “That’s a big ask. I can handle it, though.” She scratches her nails lightly down my jaw. “Thank you for talking to her. You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“You have no idea how happy you make me. She loves you, too, Fee.”

“We should call her before I start trying to take off your clothes again.”

I swallow, wondering how I’m so damn tempted again. “You do it.”

She blows out a breath, but manages for us both.

Hazel answers with a chaotic wave into the screen, setting us up at what looks like my parents kitchen table after some juggling.

“Hi! I miss you guys!” I grin at her bright expression. Clearly not missing us too badly. It eases something in me to see it, though.

“We miss you too,” Fee replies.

“Are you sitting on my Dad’s lap?” she asks, smiling conspiratorially.

“I am. Is that okay?”

“Yes! He told you the rule, though, right?”

“No tongue kissing. Got it.”

“And s’mores blondies once a month.”

Fee turns back to me, “Why do I think that was your addition?”

I shrug innocently.

Hazel tells us about a new book she’s reading, seeing a movie with my nephews at the new theater, the one with the new electric recliners. She talks about bowling with my parents, who also squeeze in to get on the phone. My mom looks near tears seeing us together, cooing over everything Fee says. Even my dad sits up straighter in his chair, repeatedly pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and booming out laughter. She charms the pants off them, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

“You can stay in my dad’s room when you want to stay with us now, Fee,” Hazel says enthusiastically when we start wrapping up the call. I’m grateful when there’s no awkward laughter from Fee’s end.

“Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

“He’s got enough of that bath stuff you like to last forever. He gets it every single time we go past that store.” Hazel says, rolling her eyes. I groan sheepishly, utterly called out. Fee’s hand finds mine and squeezes.

We say our I love you’s and our goodbyes, something so settled and natural about it that my mind cartwheels into the future. Straight into thinking about keeping Fee forever—something I’d intended to do no matter how she’d have me, but with a new color added to that thought, a new angle.

The January night is cool, but not exactly cold. Just like the too-warm Fall we just had, it seems like we’re going to have a too-short Winter, Spring already trying to pepper the air here. We walk along the river, over a yellow bridge, where we eat fancy food on a patio under string lights and vines, next to an outdoor fireplace. And then we follow it up with candy from the lobby vending machine that we eat it in our bed, in our messy hotel room oasis, before we trip back out of our clothes and rock against each other slowly from beginning to end, falling asleep with our limbs still tied up in each other.





32





NOW





FARLEY


“Three days of near-constant sex immediately followed by trying to sleep on a tour bus, plus a plane ride has indeed, made me feel my age, Fee,” Meyer grumbles, one fist shoved into the small of his back.

“Poor, poor man. I’ll work on your knots later.” I practically skip at his side and he grunts. “Need me to get your bags?” I ask him, and oh, if looks could kill.

We’re back in L.A. for Shauna’s premier, tour bus still up North, waiting for us to return to San Francisco.

Meyer retrieves our bags from the belt with a stilted grunt and we head to the exit. “Um. So, should I just head back to my place? Let you rest your weary bones?” I ask.

“Absolutely not. Come home with me. I want you in my bed.”

“For rest?”

“You know what woman? Yes!” he laughs. “Probably for some rest. Maybe an epsom salt bath. Perhaps a few milligrams of ibuprofen, but then I’ll rock your fucking world,” he grins and chuffs down at me, a combination that delights me more and more.