Wasted Words by Staci Hart

She wasn’t like the other girls I’d dated. She was real and good and true, and she wanted me. I felt more safe with her than any woman I’d ever been with.

My eyes began to close, but I didn’t want her to have to sleep on the couch with the lights all on. So I turned and slipped an arm underneath her back, then her knees. She half woke up when I stood, picking her up. She was the slightest thing, just a wisp, and I carried her to her dark room, laying her down, tucking her in. I slipped off her glasses and brushed her hair from her face, watching her for a moment before taking a step away.

Her small hand slipped into mine. “Stay,” she said, her voice rough from disuse. And there was no way I could refuse her, even if I’d wanted to.

“All right,” I whispered and unbuttoned my shirt, stealing into my room to put on sleep pants. When I came back, she hadn’t moved, and I pulled back the covers to slip in behind her. She shifted until she was pressed against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her and drifted away to sleep.

FERTILIZED

Cam

I WOKE UP SLOW AND easy, remembering the night before like it had been a dream, smiling to myself at how real it had felt.

Tyler shifted against me, and my eyes flew open.

Not a dream.

It was real.

He was real, and as I rolled over to face him, I smiled, in awe at the sight of him stretched out in my bed.

His mouth hung open just a touch, his neck long, dark lashes against his cheeks. I followed the line of his broad shoulder, the curves of his muscles, his bicep. Tricep. Forearm. Just so many muscles. Part of me wanted to peek under the blanket to feast my eyes on the rest of him, but regrettably I stopped myself.

I didn’t feel creepy watching him sleep, smiling in the morning sunshine at my sleeping giant. Everything felt right. It made sense. He was so … everything. Beautiful. Kind. Smart. Funny. And he kissed me. He kissed me for a long, long time. He held me and slept in my bed, content and happy. Or at least he seemed to be.

I felt like a princess in a fairy tale. I hoped it was true. Real.

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Will filled my thoughts, followed by the old anxiety. It was like a replay of my shame from so long ago, but as I watched Tyler sleep, I reminded myself that things were different now. Tyler wasn’t Will — I knew Tyler, trusted him. And we were adults, not teenagers in high school driven primarily by hormones.

Tyler was an exception to the rules. So I decided to shut up and go with it until I had a reason not to.

I didn’t want to wake him, but somebody had to make the coffee, so I slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen, humming as I set up the coffee machine. While it brewed, I sat down with my book. As many times as I’ve read Mists of Avalon, I never tired of it. In fact, every time I read it, I caught something new. A new line, a new phrase or moment that spoke to me. The tale of King Arthur, the women of the court, the lore of the Druids, the angst and intrigue … it was magnificent, and every time I picked it up, I was immediately immersed.

I was into my second cup when Tyler shuffled in from my room, shirtless and yawning, hand mussing his hair.

“Morning,” he said as he approached, stooping to kiss my cheek.

I nearly swooned. “Morning. Coffee’s made.”

“Taking care of me again.”

“Any time.” I closed my book and leaned on the table, watching his back. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” he asked as he poured a cup.

“For staying with me last night. For kissing me.”

He turned, his eyes twinkling. “Thanks for kissing me back.”

I snorted. “Like I could have refused.”

“So now it’s out of obligation?” He sat next to me, smirking, and I tried to keep my eyes on his, rather than on his bare chest.

“To my very womanhood, yes.”

He took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the edge of the coffee mug with Darth Vader’s mask on it that said Who’s your daddy? “So what time do you want to leave for the game?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall and did some quick math. “Well, it starts at one, so probably eleven with traffic. We’re riding back with Kyle, right?”

He nodded. “If that’s okay.”

“Sure. I’m glad he’s so generous with his tickets. Home side, fifty-yard line? That’s choice.”

“It is.” He sat back. “Eggs?”

“Only if there’s bacon.”

Tyler pushed his chair back and smiled. “There’s always bacon.”

He moved around the kitchen, gathering supplies, pausing to pick up the abandoned ice cream carton and give me a look as he tossed it in the trash.

“Hey,” I said, laughing, “it’s not my fault your sexy mouth superseded ice cream preservation.”

“Oh, that’s definitely your fault.” He smiled crookedly at me, and I picked up my book again, enjoying the moment, though I couldn’t really concentrate on reading with shirtless Tyler making me breakfast.

Excitement flittered through me at the fact that Tyler and I were actually happening. It was happening, and it was easy and simple and not weird. I mean, it was weird in the way that it was completely unbelievable, but being with Tyler had never been weird.

I wondered if I’d get to see him naked, and my uterus might have exploded at the prospect.

“How do you want your eggs?” he asked.

“Fertilized,” I said, and he laughed over his shoulder at me. I shrugged. “Over medium is good.”

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as he laid bacon into the pan.