The Divorcee Murder Club

Ocho ~ 8

                 It’s strange how soothing a warm body lying next to you is. Sleep is deeper. Dreams are more peaceful. There’s also the bonus of reaching over, feeling the other person, and knowing you’re not alone. What’s also strange, is how every morning my hand gravitates to the space next to me, and I’m surprised to find it empty. 

But not this time. 

This time I wish it was empty.

Fuck.

Angie’s naked back expands and contracts with her soft breathing. Her curls are a mess draped over the pillow, and she stirs—her legs scissoring before rolling over to face me. I scoot away, not wanting any part of her to touch my bare skin, but I pause. Her hair tumbles onto her face in a way that covers everything but her eyes. They shift under the lids in slow sweeps as she murmurs something indiscernible.

In her sleep, Angie looks like an angel with long lashes fluttering softly against her cheeks from whatever dream is clutching her subconscious.

My eyes zero in on her inner left forearm to a tattoo I’ve never noticed before. Brushing her curls aside, I see it more clearly. They’re dates scribed in a pretty cursive font—some are separated by months, another by years. Angie stirs, her eyes pop open, and then she scurries into an upright position. She scans my face with a wild stare, almost as if it’s taking a moment to register who I am.

“You’re in my apartment,” I say and her eyes drift to her naked chest. Then her hands scramble for the sheets and she tugs them to cover herself. 

What the actual fuck? Now she’s shy?

“What time is it?” She glances around.

“Nine.”

“Nine!”

“Yeah. Got somewhere to be?”

“I didn’t plan on sleeping over and yeah, I’ve got shit to do.” Swinging her legs off the bed, she takes the sheets with her while snatching her clothes from the floor. “And now, I’m late.”

It’s cold sitting here without blankets, so I stand and slide my sweats on. Something soft is beneath my feet and surprise, Angie’s pink lacey thong is there. I grab it and slingshot it at her back, which pisses her off as her bent spine becomes rigid. Her head of curls swivel around and her eyes spear me with a frosty glare.

“Could you not!”

“You’re lucky I gave it back. I like those. They’re hot.”

“Turn around.” She adjusts the sheet.

“Why? I’ve already seen you naked.”

“In the dark!”

I mock a gasp because my oh my, is Angie seriously being coy right now? A little sex and her tough facade crumbles. Interesting. I fold my arms and raise my chin.

“Nah. I’m good.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“An asshole you enjoyed fucking.” I shrug, and her glare hardens even more. She might even melt my clothes off.

“Fine,” she says through her teeth, letting the sheet fall.

Smirking, I lean back against my dresser, but my bottom hits the surface a little too hard causing the drawers to squeak. But the noise is nothing compared to the quickening thump in my chest. Angie stares back at me, tears boiling in her eyes as she tugs her undies on. I can’t look away from the scars on her lower abdomen. They look like scratches.