Sweet Dreams
Page 41

This, at the time, didn’t register on me because it was Tate and he was good with his mouth therefore that was the only thing that registered.
Then he lifted his head half an inch and stated, “You’re gonna find special, Ace.”
I shook my head in the minimal space allowed partially in a negative, mostly to recover from his kiss.
“Special doesn’t exist, Tate,” I told him. “And I’m okay with that.”
His lips came back to mine and when he spoke, he did it gently. “It will for you, baby.”
“I like him,” Mom declared loudly.
I watched Tate’s eyes smile.
“Maybe we shouldn’t neck in front of my Mom while my Dad’s in ICU,” I suggested and then watched the smile in Tate’s eyes deepen.
“Don’t mind us,” Mack called. “They probably don’t get a lot of foreplay in hospital waiting rooms. You’re breakin’ the monotony of tears and tantrums.”
“Mack!” Carrie hissed. “Tate just kissed her, that’s hardly foreplay.”
“You weren’t watchin’ close enough, honey. That was definitely foreplay.”
By this time Tate’s head had gone up about three inches so I could see his mouth struggling against his smile, or, perhaps, out and out laughter.
“My family is a little crazy,” I whispered.
“I get that,” Tate replied.
“Perhaps I should go,” Brad noted and Tate didn’t release me but his head turned toward Brad.
“You think?” he asked.
I started giggling and seeing as my hands were clutching Tate’s t-shirt at his waist, I just slid them along so they were loosely wrapped around his back and I could rest my weight into his body.
But Brad wasn’t done. He got close and I turned my head to look at him too.
“I get this,” he said, “this guy.” He jerked his head at Tate. “Wild oats. But I know you Ree. You’ll want your manicures and martinis. You’ll be back.”
I looked at Tate and noted, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Can we buy some martini glasses for the bar?”
“No,” Tate replied.
“All right,” I muttered.
“Can we go to the hotel?” Mom asked. “I need to rest, I want to be back to check on your father first thing in the morning.”
“You girls’ll have to scrunch in the back. Tate and my legs are too long,” Mack declared.
“It’s your car, hon,” Mom said and she sounded tired.
“Mom sounds tired,” I whispered to Tate and he let my neck go but didn’t step out of my space.
“Be with her,” he whispered back.
“Okay,” I agreed then called, “Captain?”
“Yeah, Ace.”
“Thanks.”
His hand lifted and he trailed the backs of his fingers along my jaw.
My mind automatically committed the feel of his touch to memory right along with the look on his face when he did it.
Then I went to my Mom.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry about this,” I said to Tate as we entered the hotel room my Mom insisted on getting us.
Us!
Our farm was only a thirty minute drive away from Indianapolis and Carrie and Mack lived in the city but they lived on the other side and Mom didn’t want to drive back and forth so we’d all checked in and would be in (at least Mom and me) until she felt Dad was okay to leave for awhile.
After having a very late dinner, we’d gone to the hotel and Mom had insisted that she pay for Tate and my room.
Tate tried to protest, Mom was losing so she looked at me, pulled out the big guns, and said, “It’s what your father would do if he was here.”
Tate’s eyes sliced to me, his jaw clenched then he sighed and then I let Mom get us a room.
Now we were stuck together in a room with a king-sized bed.
Tate dumped our luggage on the built-in luggage rack and I looked around the room that was in a Marriott which was about as far away from Ned and Betty’s below average (but now it was home) room as you could get.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tate muttered.
“I’ll run down and get another room, try to get it on the same floor or something so they won’t know and I’ll sleep there.”
“It’s all good, Ace,” Tate said. He’d sat in a chair and was pulling off his boots.
“There’s only one bed,” I informed him of a fact he knew.
“It’s a big bed,” he replied.
“Tate –” I started and his head came up.
“Babe, it’s all good. Quit yappin’.”
“Okay,” I whispered and then just stood there not knowing what to do.
Tate knew what to do. He went to the bed, yanked the pillows out from under the coverlet and stacked them on one side. Then he emptied his pockets, lay on the covers, back to the pillows, grabbed the remote and switched on the TV.
I stepped further into the room.
“That was nice of you,” I said to him.
“What?” he asked the TV.
“To pretend you were my boyfriend in front of Brad,” I replied.
“Your ex is an ass**le, babe.” He was still talking to the TV.
He was right about that.
So I said, “It was also nice for you to pretend in front of my family at dinner.”
“Your family’s the shit, Ace.” He was still watching TV.
He was right about that too.
“Mm,” I mumbled and looked at the TV.
It didn’t take long for the images on the screen mesmerize me. This was because I was drained, emotionally and physically. Travelling wore me out. Brad wore me out. And I was terrified the last time I’d communicate with my Dad was through an e-mail.
“Babe,” Tate called.
“Mm?” I asked, eyes glued to the screen.
“Laurie, take your shoes off and lie down.”
I didn’t move.
“Lauren,” Tate called.
I stared at the screen.
“Fuck me,” Tate muttered, I heard a zip then my body was moving.
My heard jerked and I looked up at Tate as he pushed me into the bathroom.
“What?”
“Change and come to bed before you collapse on your feet,” he ordered and shoved some material in my hand.
I looked at the material. “This isn’t mine.”
“It’s mine. Not gonna waste time sortin’ through your shit.”
“But –”
“Put it on, Ace.”