“Coming,” she answered, because she didn’t feel okay. She didn’t feel not okay either. She couldn’t have described how she was feeling at all, so it was a relief when she took his hand and felt him squeeze.
They didn’t need words to understand each other, to provide comfort. Didn’t need words to take in the fact that they had been placed into separate bedrooms.
Apparently the word rooms had been plural on purpose.
“It’s just how she is,” Blake said after the housekeeper had gone. “Trying to exert control on what she can. We’ll just move into one.”
Erin surveyed the navy blue bedspread and classic baseball posters on the wall. It seemed impersonal and
yet…it wouldn’t be an ordinary guest bedroom. Not with that neat line of trophies on the bookshelf. “Was this your bedroom?”
He coughed. “We can stay in the other one.”
“Oh no,” she said, laughing. “We’re definitely staying in this one.”
His cheeks looked definitely darker. “The other room probably has a queen mattress. Maybe king. We’ll have more room.”
And his only had a double bed, it looked like, but she wouldn’t have left for anything. Instead she wandered in, running her fingers along the smooth walnut desk and line of books. “What were you like as a kid?”
She was fascinated just thinking about it. He was so firmly adult in her mind, so experienced and even wise. This room did little to dispel that image. It was like something out of a catalog. Not lived in. Not his.
He snorted. “Selfish. Stupid. Like most kids in this neighborhood. Wait here and I’ll get the bags from the other room.”
The idea of a selfish Blake was as foreign to her as a young one. All kids were probably self-centered to some extent. Erin had been. That night her mother had come home crying had opened her eyes.
What had opened Blake’s? His time overseas? Or something before that?
Blake returned with half the bags and stacked them by the others near the closet. She briefly wondered if Mrs. Morris would get upset about them messing with her room assignments, but Blake seemed to handle her pretty well.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, closing the door, shutting them in.
She shrugged. “Are you tired? You drove all that way, and I got to nap.”
“A little. I could sleep, but only if you’re with me.”
The idea of sleeping in this bed together, in Blake’s bed where he had been a teenager, where he had turned into a man, gave her a sort of thrill. There was an emotional component for sure, being with him, knowing him this way. As if the fabric, the mattress, had his story printed on them—invisible but just as true.
And there was a physical component too. A little taboo but definitely hot.
“I could lie down,” she said, drawing her finger over the smooth bedding. “Though I wasn’t thinking of sleeping.”
Surprise flashed briefly through his eyes. “Here?”
She glanced back. Maybe smaller than their usual bed but definitely big enough for two. “Have you ever?”
He knew what she was asking—if he’d ever had sex here before. An expression of guilt and pride crossed his face. “Yes.”
She considered that, and what else she knew about teenage boys. “Where’s your stash?”
His expression became suddenly, carefully blank. “My what?”
“Your stash. You know, stash of porn. Every boy has one, right?”
“What makes you think I left one here?”
She shrugged. “Did you?”
“I’d never leave something where my parents could find it.”