Page 112 of Playing With Fire

“You have work tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And it is...” I glance at the clock. “Almost two.”

“I know how clocks work, Ken.”

“Apparently not how bedtimes work.”

“I was getting to a good part.”

“Of course you were.”

She hugs the book against her chest.

I look at the cover. Then her.

“Did you finish?”

Silence.

Fuck.

Her eyebrows lift.

I know exactly how that sounded. She knows exactly how that sounded. Darcy stops licking himself long enough to look between us.

I clear my throat. “The book.”

Her tops twitch. “I know what you meant.”

“Sure you did.”

“Unfortunately, no. Someone interrupted me.”

I look at her. “You were asleep.”

“I closed my eyes for like two seconds.”

“You were drooling.”

Her mouth drops open. “I was not.”

“A little bit.”

“You’re a liar.” She laughs again.

And neither of us gets up. She has work in a few hours. I’ve been traveling since Monday. We’re both exhausted. There’s no reason either of us is still sitting here.

But she pulls the blanket back over her legs.

I loosen another button at my throat and sink deeper into the sectional.

The sports recap rolls into another one. Then another.

At some point, the ice pack lands on the coffee table. And a little while later, Becks stops pretending to read.

Her head tips against the back of the couch. Then my shoulder.