Swap Out (15 page)

“I’m not going to leave, Zoe. The only rugs I pull out are the ones you tell me to.”

She gives me another half-smile, letting me wrap her in a warm hug. And it feels so good as my hand settles on her back and my other cups her neck, my cheek laying to her crown as her palms splay on my back, so right and so normal… But my mind is still trying to catch up with everything and I don’t know if it ever will.

Woman never stops throwing me for a loop, and I don’t even know if I want her to.

God, what a crazy fucking day.

She pulls back and is apparently on the same track as I am, because her eyes narrow a little before she asks, “Did you really like Hailey’s store?”

Everything in me relaxes as I rub my palms down her arms, then shrug.

“Yeah, we should shop there more often. Oh, and we definitely need to get that really big lamp made out of seashells. It would look great in your office, but of course that’s only if you don’t want to send it out on a stage because it’s too nice to risk getting damaged.”

“Luca!”

I snort, then press a kiss into her forehead before reaching for the handle of the passenger door. “If we’re going to do this, then you’re going to have to stop taking everything I say and do so seriously.”

“I’m
pregnant
and just had
another
emotional breakdown, and you expect me to rationally sort through every lame joke you make? I don’t have a third of the energy that requires.”

“You’re pregnant?!” I gasp. “Forget it,” I say and shake my head, taking a step back. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

She sucks in a breath and swats at my shoulder, then gets in the car and shuts the door. I whistle all the way around to the driver’s side, and when I get in Zoe has the visor mirror flipped down, steadily wiping at her face.

“God, I look like somebody died. I can’t go back to the office like this and I blame you.”

I tilt my head. “Pie first?”

She pushes up the visor, then looks at me with the remnants of a smile she’s failing to hide. “Okay, but you’re buying.”

I laugh, starting her Enclave. “Now I get it, you gave me a raise just so I could start footing the bill for every item on your gimme list. Well played, Zoe, well played.”

“You want to date?” she says, crossing her arms with a satisfied smirk. “Then we follow normal dating rules.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to put out until the fifth date? Or whatever the standard is…”

She gapes at me, and I gasp mockingly.

“You would be so lucky,” she mumbles, and I smile as I reach over and take her hand, lacing her fingers with mine as I pull onto the road.

“I know.”

There’s something about watching the sunrise in silence, the soft light of dawn pooling in through long white curtains and whispering promises of better days. There are a few I’ll always remember: the grumpy groans coming from the beds next to mine that sounded like an angel chorus when I was finally back in the group home after leaving the compound; the slits of orange on the white blanket of my hospital bed when I first regained consciousness. The purple and pinks I watched slip into gold this morning.

I still can’t believe where I am.

Yesterday, after what I’m going to affectionately refer to as The Cliffs of Insanity, we eventually made our way back to the office after sharing a slice of pumpkin pie and more than a few smiles that were all we-have-a-new-secret. Of course that was only once Zoe was done touching up her makeup which looked fine, but she wasn’t about to trust my opinion on the matter. Luckily there wasn’t much left to do for the day since I really didn’t feel like doing anything other than going home and cooking dinner before crashing, and after I sent the rest of the crew to the parking lot I stopped by Zoe’s desk to tell her I was heading out.

She was yawning up a storm, succumbing to her typical exhaustion with the added amount wrought from her anxiety attack, and my previous nighttime plans got swapped out. The words were right on the tip of my tongue, dying to ask her to come over and have dinner with me again, but I just couldn’t with how tired she obviously was. I gently told her to go home and get some rest, and she nodded with a smile, but there was something in her eyes…

So when I left, I didn’t go home. Well, I did, but I didn’t stay there. Quick shower and a change of clothes, then I went to City Market. In and out in five minutes, then back in the car until I stopped in a neighborhood that creeps me out a little because at night it looks like the set of a horror movie. The ones where happy families live before all hell breaks loose into mass murder and zombies and ghosts who are eager for revenge because the street is over a Native American graveyard or something.

But I knocked softly on the front door painted a color matching the sole of her stilettos—and the single rose I had in my hand—and when she answered in a comfortable t-shirt and pair of plaid pajama shorts, I couldn’t stop the grin from forming on my face. Because Zoe was instantly beaming, her cheeks blushing as she ducked her head and bit her lip.

Even better was when I pulled my left hand out from behind my back, revealing the jar of peanut butter sitting atop a DVD of the first season of
Fawlty Towers
I grabbed from home, and she burst into giggles and then stepped aside.

For two hours we just let everything go: her stretched out on her couch as I sat on the floor in front of her, passing a spoon back and forth and discussing the brilliance of peanut butter. We laughed and laughed over the absurd silliness of 70s British comedy and the classic eccentricities of John Cleese as Basil Fawlty. And I couldn’t resist comparing his despotic hotel management style with that of Zoe’s—something she was not keen to agree to—but she had no problem likening me to the incompetent bellhop, Manuel. That scored her three minutes of the silent treatment.

It would have been five, but when she pouted adorably while holding out a dollop of peanut butter, then sweetly kissed me, I let her off the hook. Yep, I’m a total sucker. My Sergeants would be so proud.
Not.

It wasn’t long before she was far off in dreamland, a hand tucked under her cheek and curled up under the throw blanket I’m pretty sure is cashmere. One day I’m gonna hand her something made out of polyester just to see if she screams. Although it kinda makes me wonder how she’s never said anything about my apartment because in comparison, her house is Buckingham Palace. But something about it is just comfortable, familiar. Not like a museum or a place you’ve never been before where you’re afraid to relax or eat a jar of peanut butter in the living room.

It feels like a home.

Shouldn’t surprise me, since that’s what she does for a living, but still. It seems like I’ve been here hundreds of times before, when in reality I’ve only been here once and it wasn’t exactly under ideal circumstances. Honestly, I’m just glad her house isn’t triggering some sort of PTSD breakdown. But I had no issues with turning off her TV and the lights, wandering around and debating which of three fully decorated bedrooms was hers before turning down the cream-colored comforter in the room I settled on.

Because the other two are rivaling five-star hotel suites: bed frames and dressers and lamps and pillows and chairs I couldn’t help but to stop and gawk at just to admire them for what they were. Furniture arranged perfectly for maximum peace and tranquility, the light from the windows falling across the end of the bed so it’s assured not to blind someone in the morning. But the third room, it was softer.

Light fabrics, cloudy-gray walls, wood dark enough to be rich and sturdy but not intimidating by being a stark black. And it was still stunning, but a little less like it was trying to impress. It’s a room you live in, not one where you feel yourself lucky to be a visitor.

And okay, the master bath connected to the room kind of gave it away, but I didn’t see that until the last second. I almost wish I didn’t because
damn
, I’ll never look at mine the same way again. Makes me want to go home and clean and clean and clean and change my hardware and buy better bathmats. And that thought ticked me off a little because I like my apartment, cheap leather couch and coffee table from IKEA and comforter from SEARS and all. There’s nothing wrong with how I live, especially since until last Friday I was only making 30k a year. Perfectly acceptable.

I brushed off the difference in our standard of living as I removed the six decorative pillows off her bed, putting them in the chest by the footboard I know is there specifically to store them overnight, then turned down her covers and went to get Zoe. I’ll admit, it was everything I didn’t know I wanted to hear—plus a mighty surge to my ego—when I picked her up and she sleepily whispered, “I could get used to this…”

And I don’t know if she heard it, but I didn’t stop myself from holding her closer and breathing back, “You will.”

Then again, maybe she did hear me because when I laid her down and covered her up, she reached for my hand and asked, confused, if I wasn’t staying. So I asked if she wanted me to, and wonders will never cease because she nodded. She actually nodded.

Twenty bucks say I didn’t get more than ten minutes of sleep last night, but I don’t care and to be frank, I’m still a little tweaked at the way life has spun so dramatically. Zoe’s been sleeping like a rock. Except for the four times she had to get up to pee which I’m feeling a little guilty about. For someone who wants to be in control all of the time, it has to be driving her nuts that her body isn’t under her command anymore.

I roll onto my side, reaching over to tuck back one of Zoe’s stray hairs and hooking it behind her ear, and I can’t help but smile as she blows out a long and smooth stream of air in her sleep. I let my fingertip trail down her cheek and the line of her jaw, and when my touch disappears from her skin I have to bite back my chuckle because her brow immediately crinkles. So I run a knuckle down the back of her hand and the line on her forehead instantly smoothes out, Zoe snuggling a little further into the pillow next to me.

I reach over to her nightstand and check the time on my phone, and it’s a quarter after six. I’ve been waiting for her to wake up and be sick, but she hasn’t moved for three hours and doesn’t seem like she’s going to enter the waking world anytime soon. I don’t really want to leave her alone to deal with that by herself, but I need to get my day started.

Carefully, I slide out of her bed and stretch, my shoulder always a little stiff in the morning but nothing I can’t deal with. I pull my right arm across my body, lengthening the muscle as much as I can stand before I let it go and roll it out, my left hand coming up to massage the area. But the only thing that’s really going to help is to work it out with some push-ups and some weights, and I’m not counting on Zoe having a weight bench in her garage.

I grab my jeans and pull them on over my boxers, sucking in a breath at the pressure of my zipper against my erection because being in bed with Zoe while we’re both dressed is like dangling a bag of crack in front of an addict. I know things are different, and they’re changing, but I’m still a red blooded male and I’ve got needs too. Four months of consistently fantastic sex, then nothing. And yes, I’m spoiled, but that should also explain why I’m on the verge of going insane. I swear, if she keeps making me resort to my hand, then at this rate I’m gonna need time off work to let the calluses heal before I’m able to lift anything.

“Sneaking out?”

I turn, instantly distracted from my previous train of thought, and also not distracted at all. Because Zoe is smiling with an arched eyebrow from her side of the bed, her hair fanned out over her pillow and begging to have my fingertips slip through the soft strands. Her skin is smooth and glowing in the sunrise, and it still blows my mind that I stumbled into being so fucking lucky.

Actually it scares the crap out of me, because fate and life aren’t this kind. There’s a catch somewhere, there has to be. And if all it comes down to are her nerves about taking a chance on me, I’ll take it. Sold.

I smile and sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Not all of us have the luxury of sleeping in ‘til noon every day.”

She laughs quietly, and I reach over and take her hand.

“Gotta get home,” I tell her. “Take a shower, get dressed, go to work.”

She groans, her nose wrinkling. “It’s too early to go to work.”

“Great, call my boss and tell her that.”

“No way, that woman is crazy. And scary before she’s had coffee.”

I grin and lean down, my lips hovering over hers as her hand settles on my jaw. “She has her moments.”

I gently press my mouth to Zoe’s, a low moan rumbling up my throat at how warm and full her lips are after just waking up. And it’s so addicting I can’t resist another taste, then one more before I pull myself away with a groan. But thank fuck for the chain around my neck because she immediately brings me back, taking control of the speed and pressure and I let her lead me: happy to sink into the sensation of her cradling my bottom lip between hers, then doing the same with my upper lip until she presses a small kiss at the corner of my mouth: the side I always smirk on.

“Now you can go,” she whispers with a grin, and I chuckle and steal one last kiss before I get up and tug on my shirt, dropping my tags inside my collar.

“Keep giving orders and we’re gonna have to get you a rank,” I tease, sliding my phone into my pocket.

“And what rank would you give me, Sergeant?”

“I was a Senior Airman. But nice try.”

“A
Senior
Airman?” she says, a little shocked, then shakes her head. “What is that, like the Air Force’s version of a Major? Colonel even?”

I wink and stroll out of her room, and once I’m around the corner I fist pump at hearing her giggle. I stop by the front door and pull on my boots, but when my gaze snags at the rose I brought her that’s lying innocently on her coffee table, I get an idea. Who says guys aren’t allowed to be strong
and
romantic?

Silently, I sneak back in Zoe’s room, finding her with her back to the door and the covers pulled up to her shoulders. Perfect.

Her eyes are closed and light and slow, I tease the tip of the rose petals down the line of her nose and then lay the flower on the pillow beside her, soaking up her resulting smile.

I grin and lean down, my nose nudging her ear affectionately and my words barely more than a whisper when I breathe, “I promise.”