Court? Bemused, Bo considered the idea. First, to stay with his terminology, why would he be trying to court her today? He’d gotten what he wanted last night. That was what courting was, wasn’t it? An effort to have sex? If he meant it in the old-fashioned sense of the word then . . . then she was at sea, because it meant a focus on the future that she couldn’t quite get her head around—not yet, anyway. Deciding to enjoy the moment didn’t mean she was completely changing how she approached life, just how she dealt with him.
“You’ve done my laundry,” she finally offered.
He laughed as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “See what I mean? How many women would consider someone doing laundry to be courting?”
“Probably most women. Laundry’s a pain in the butt.”
“Well, hell, then throw down a load of underwear and I’ll get right on it.”
She laughed and said, “I’d rather think about breakfast right now. What sounds good to you?”
Bo was oddly at peace as they went through the morning routine. She had made a decision and she was good with it, whatever happened. Yesterday had taught her that there was no way she could isolate herself from life and the bad things, and she couldn’t predict or prepare for them; all she could do was live.
She might not have the future with Morgan, but she had the now, and that was sufficient. Suddenly she felt free: free to touch him whenever she wanted—which was often—free to walk around in whatever state of dress or undress she wanted, free to want. Wanting and denying herself had been a brand of torture; wanting and being able to fulfill that want was delicious.
They had made love twice more during the night; he was very good at it, and very focused and disciplined, all of which translated into something great for her. She was a little sore this morning but also infinitely relaxed. She didn’t torment herself wondering if it was just sex to him while it was making love to her because knowing wouldn’t change a thing. She could analyze something to death without a single detail being affected. Tomorrow might be different, but today was today.
After they’d had breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen, she putzed around tidying things that weren’t very messy to begin with, then she went upstairs. Taking him at his word, she threw a load of laundry down. By balling several garments together she got enough heft and weight to get some distance on it, and a pair of jeans landed neatly across his head as he sat in front of the TV, feet up and channel-hopping in classic male form. She expected him to bolt upright, but instead he laughed, leaned his head back, and said, “I wondered if you’d jump on that.”
“Consider it jumped on.”
While he started the laundry, she changed the sheets on the bed, a little amused and turned on because they definitely needed changing. The dirty sheets went over the balcony too; he’d know what to do with them. Delighted by the game of throwing things over the balcony, Tricks began running and barking, then grabbed a stuffed animal and slung it around to kill it. Everyone else was having fun, so why shouldn’t she?
Morgan grabbed one leg of the toy and began playing tug of war with her; while they were occupied, Bo wandered to her desk and stood looking down at it.
She had a tech-writing project she could work on. She studied it, thought about it, but couldn’t make herself plant her butt in the chair. For the first time in forever she had absolutely no interest in work. As traumatic as the day before had been, and as eventful as the night before had been, she thought she needed a day to do nothing but relax and enjoy the life she had . . . somehow. Doing something. The question was: what?
She was saved by Tricks, who abruptly abandoned the game with Morgan, went to the door and gave Bo her “Well?” look. The first trip outside in the mornings was for necessity, not walking, and now it was past time for her first walk of the day.
Morgan armed himself, she got the house keys and cell phone, and out they went.
The day seemed to call for a long, rambling walk, much longer than usual. At first they didn’t talk; the morning was warm but not yet uncomfortably so, the greenery was still fresh and damp from last night’s dew, and the sky overhead was a clear blue except for cotton-ball clouds drifting by. It always amazed her how noisy nature was; the birds were singing so wildly they sounded drunk, the bushes rustled with what she hoped wasn’t a rabbit because she didn’t want Tricks to give chase, the trees swayed in a light breeze. Bees droned, insects buzzed, arguments broke out between birds.
Morgan took her hand and they walked side by side when they could; when they couldn’t, he kept hold of her hand but walked in front, his head swiveling back and forth as he looked for trouble in any form, reptile, rodent, whatever might take Tricks’s attention. Though she’d been walking this path without incident for years, he used his grip on her hand to steady her as she stepped over logs and rocks.
She felt vaguely guilty, as if she was playing hooky.
“I don’t know how to relax,” she confessed after thinking about it for a minute. “I feel as if I should be doing something.”
He laced his fingers with hers. Having him hold her hand felt new and exciting as well as . . . comfortable. She was comfortable with him. That struck her as sexy, which told her she had it bad when she could equate even comfortable with sexy. She suspected that if he had knock-knees, she’d find that sexy too.
He brushed aside a bush branch for her to pass. “You’ve worked hard since you moved here, digging yourself out of a hole. That takes guts. But I’ve noticed you aren’t a sit-down-and-veg-in-front-of-the-TV kind of woman.”