The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

he might even get dragged into it. Even though he didn’t witness the actual events, he knew all the people involved. It was hard to say.

Maybe I should call him.

No. This was in-person conversation. I was flying back to New York on Wednesday. It could wait until then.

Jesus. Whatever. Okay, I was going to try to get some sleep. I put out my cigarette and quietly made my way back into the apartment. My bag was still next to the front door, where I’d dumped it as we came in. Both of us were a little too excited to think about niceties at that point. A trail of discarded clothing led from the front door to the bedroom. I got my toothbrush out of my bag, ducked into the bathroom and brushed, then went back in the bedroom.

She was still sleeping peacefully.

What were the odds of me having the nightmare again?

Pretty damn good. Shit.

I leaned over and very gently kissed her on the forehead. In her sleep, she smiled, and that sight almost broke my heart. So I grabbed one of the pillows off the bed, tossed it on the floor next to her, and lay down. The carpet was itchy, but I’d slept in worse places.

Um… blueberry (Carrie)

The sun was shining in my window when I awoke on Saturday morning. The warmth flooded my body, and I stretched. I was sore. Okay, it had been a long time since that happened to me. The long muscles in the back of my legs and thighs and butt were sore as hell. Actually, I was sore in places I didn’t even know could be sore. My past sexual experience had been with other graduate students, and once, as a fumbling, inexperienced eighteen-year-old on a road trip across the country with another fumbling, inexperienced eighteen-year-old, while we tried to stay very quiet because Julia and Crank were in the next room, and there were some things my big sister didn’t need to know.

This was different. Ray had been an athlete in high school and college, and most recently had been hiking around the mountains of Afghanistan carrying fifty pounds of gear. He was in shape. I’m no slouch. I go to the gym three afternoons a week. And when I’m in the field, I’m hiking long distances, sometimes ten or twenty miles or more. But he had tired me out.

I felt a smile on my face thinking of it.

I rolled over, stretching my arms out for Ray, and he wasn’t there. Huh. Feeling unexpectedly disappointed, I sat up and saw him.

He was curled up on the floor next to the bed. I sighed, and looked at him, my breath catching in my throat a little. I mean, it was obvious why. He was afraid of having the nightmare again. He slept on the floor of my room to protect me. A wave of unfamiliar emotion swept through me. I felt my eyes water suddenly. Because he had options. He could have gone to the hotel he’d reserved. Or slept on the couch. Or risked having the nightmare again.

Instead, he stayed next to me. On the floor.

Well, screw that. I grabbed my pillow, threw it on the floor next to him, and cuddled up next to him, pulling the blanket over us both. He smelled a little like cigarettes, and a lot like sex and sweat.

My movement disturbed him, and he slowly opened his eyes.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I said.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he replied. His voice was rough.

“You didn’t have to sleep on the floor.”

He tried to look sheepish. “Yeah, well. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But I’m sore now.”

I tried to suppress a snicker. “So am I.”

Alarm immediately appeared on his face. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

I closed my eyes for just a second, trying to gather some patience. “Ray ... I was being a smartass. I’m sore because of the sex, not because of the other thing.”

“Oh…” he said. Then he recovered his composure. “Well ... in that case ... might need to help you limber up some. Stretch those muscles some more.”

Now I did laugh, and I picked up my pillow and hit him over the head with it. He grabbed me and pulled me on top of him, and given that neither of us had any clothes on, there was no doubt at all what his intentions were.

I laid my index finger across his lips and said, “I need thirty seconds. Morning breath.”

Then I jumped up and ran for the toothbrush.

Two hours later, we were finally sitting over breakfast at the Park Grill, and I decided it was time to push a little.

“Talk to me about the nightmare,” I said.

Ray grimaced. “I guess I owe you that.”

I held up a hand. “You don’t owe me anything yet, Ray. But ... maybe you owe it to yourself—to let yourself heal. You don’t have to talk with me about it, Ray. But talk to someone. Dylan maybe. Or a doctor.”

He nodded, sighed, and then said, “It’s more complicated than that.”

I leaned forward, grabbed his hand, and then I plunged off a cliff.

“Ray, listen to me.”

“Okay,” he said, slowly.

“I’m going to say this once, and if you aren’t ready for it, then ... well ... that’ll suck.”

His mouth twitched, just slightly upward, on one side.

“I’m serious,” I said. Then I took a deep breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and probably way too quickly to understand, I said, “I think I’m falling for you.”

I waited ... ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Then I opened my eyes.

He had a huge grin on his face. Almost a smirk.

“What?” I said, my voice rising into a squeal that was probably really unattractive. His grin grew bigger, into a genuine smile, so I balled up my napkin, which still had crumbs of blueberry muffin all over it, and threw it at him. It hit him right in the face and fell to the table.

Ray burst into laughter, then said, “Babe. I feel exactly the