: Chapter 33

I’ve been standing at the sink for too long, trying to remember how to brush my teeth.

This is not the pot I tried in college.

Finally, I jam the brush in my mouth and give it my best effort before rinsing and turning off the lights.

King carried me all the way to our room.

All. The. Way.

He might have been breathing hard, but I was too busy trying to not pass out and fall off to notice.

Luckily, I woke up enough to collect pajamas while he used the bathroom. Then we switched.

I flip the light off too early, and struggle for a moment with the door handle.

The door pops open. “Ope!” I hop back, almost opening it into my face.

Focusing on acting normal, I step out of the bathroom.

Instead of being in bed, King is standing next to it, about to get in.

He really is handsome.

King pauses, and his eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I look down, tugging at the front of my 3xl men’s t-shirt, that goes to my knees, to make sure I grabbed the right thing. I did.

“My pajamas,” I say, as my eyes glance around the room.

Yeah, this is the bedroom. It’s the right place to wear pajamas.

“Savannah.” King sounds like he’s talking through his teeth.

I bite my teeth together. Testing the feel of it.

I don’t like it.

Remembering how tired I am, I hurry to the bed and scramble onto the mattress. Burrowing under the blankets quickly.

“Savannah.” The way King says my name makes me roll onto my side to face him.

“Yeah?” I pull the comforter up to my chin.

“Whose shirt is that?”

I think about the faded logo for the local football team plastered across my chest. “It’s mine.”

King leans down, placing his palms on the mattress. “If that shirt belonged to another man, I’m going to rip it off your fucking body.”

“Rip,” I repeat the word, popping the P.

My husband’s face makes a funny expression, and I make the popping sound again.

“Sav––”

“Has anyone ever told you, you look like a lion?” Hands still on the bed, King hangs his head forward, his shoulders hunching, making him look even more like a big cat. “Your eyes,” I clarify, in case he’s frustrated about not understanding.

His head lifts, those cat-like eyes boring into mine. “Where did you get that man’s t-shirt?”

Oh, we’re back to this. “Target.”

“You bought it?” He looks skeptical.

I nod.

“For yourself?”

I nod again. “It’s soft.”

“Why wouldn’t you buy women’s pajamas? I’m sure they have soft ones.”

“Because…” Emotions crash into me out of nowhere, and my throat feels alarmingly tight. “Because I like to pretend it belongs to someone else.”

Why am I admitting this? I shouldn’t be admitting this.

“Why?”

I hold the blanket tighter, bringing it higher, so it’s covering half my mouth. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. Answer the question.”

I keep the blanket where it is. “Because it makes me feel like I have someone.”

His jaw works, before he pulls back, stretching up and up until he’s standing straight. “What about Dip Shit?”

“Who?” My eyes are locked on his chest muscles.

Chest. That sounds like a fake word.

“Leland.”

“Hmm? What about him?” I visually trace the pattern of his body hair as it goes down, and down, disappearing beneath the band of shiny blue boxers.

“Didn’t you have any of his clothes?”

“Have his clothes?” I shake my head against the pillow. “Why would I have his clothes?”

“Jesus Christ,” King mutters, and I finally bring my gaze back up to his. He points a finger to the closet. “If I go in there, and dig through your shit, am I going to find any of Leland’s clothes?”

I scrunch my nose, earlier sad emotions already forgotten. “That would be weird.”

“Why… You know what, never mind.” King heaves out a breath and I feel bad for making him upset.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about, Savannah?” he asks, resigned.

“Um, for…” I try to remember. “Making you mad?” I finish as a question.

“Alright, Honey.” King flips off his bedside lamp and in the following darkness, I feel his movements through the mattress.

Quiet follows, and I wait somewhere between a moment and forever before scooting over to his side of the bed.

Part of me knows it’s always been me, that I’m the one who moves every night, forcing him into cuddling with me. But I like it.

I shouldn’t.

Not with him.

But I do.

My nose bumps into his shoulder, and, without prompting, King lifts his arm.

With a satisfied exhale, I press my cheek against my favorite spot on his chest.