Ch 7 ~ California Dreamin'

A cozy sense of contentment enveloped Rachel as tangibly as any blanket and unlike anything she’d been privileged enough to enjoy in... ages.  For her, the glow of sleep had lost its luster since well before she left New Jersey and that made her reluctant to surrender the current glow that had blessed her with its presence.  Burrowing into the warmth, she reveled in it, her traitorous and sleep-fogged mind attributing the warmth to an imaginary Jon’s body.  She wasn’t alert enough to dispel the illusion that it was him curled around her back. 

The warmth shifted against her ribcage, just below her breasts and she shifted in response, the mattress giving as she did so.  Her forehead furrowed over eyes that remained sealed. 

Oh.  My.  Word.

It wasn’t a dream.  She wasn’t asleep.  Well, she had been, but she wasn’t anymore.  That warmth wasn’t a dream, it was a hot man pressed against her back. 

Sonofabitch.

Rachel kept still, with the exception of the skittering reverberation of her heart against the wall of her chest, and slowly opened her eyes to find the family room fireplace dark and cold.  Her eyes fluttered closed again on a silent groan. 

She didn’t need to see his face to know whose morning hard-on was pressed into her hip.  Their bodies interlocked like puzzle pieces, always perfectly aligned when they slept; if one turned over, the other followed.  They could easily sleep on a twin bed together – it was all the room they ever needed.  Most of their nights, Jon’s shoulder was all the pillow she used.

Just like now.

I hate that I don’t want to throw his arm off and kick him in the nuts.  HATE it.

The reverse was the case, in fact.  She wanted – no, craved – nothing more than to stay here and indulge in the fact that she’d woken up in what felt like a perfect world, just because he was in it. 

“Unhealthy relationships are like drug addiction, Rachel.  You keep looking for that ‘one more hit’ – that unmatchable high that only he can bring you.  But that relationship is just as destructive to you as cocaine, only it will cause a slower, more painful death.”

Alison’s voice was an unwelcome intrusion into the unforeseen nirvana that Rachel found herself in this morning, even if the woman was telling the truth.    

It had been a horrific mistake to let him in the door last night.  She should have known better, and might have, if his phone call hadn’t shot her so full of adrenaline that she’d been unable to get to sleep last night.  After an hour of tossing and turning, she had finally resorted to taking ten milligrams of Ambien just before Jon arrived.   The sedative prescribed to her after her husband, Nick, and their children had been killed had been a last ditch effort to crawl into pleaceful sleep that didn’t include Jon’s voice inviting her to come and see him – over and over and over. 

While changing from her nightshirt into pajamas, she’d sworn that she was going to find out what he wanted and say whatever it took to get him back out the door in record time.   That had been the plan.

Unfortunately, her body wasn’t accustomed to the foreign – and potent – chemicals that fine makers of Ambien packed into those little guys.  She clearly remembered joining Jon in the family room and finding him behind the bar, but everything beyond that was a faint and hazy recollection.  And how had she ended up with his legs knotted with hers like a pretzel?

But the way he makes you feel isn’t hazy at all, is it?  Doing nothing more than sleeping next to you, he makes you feel the way he always did.  Alive and whole.

Tragic, but true.  As long it as it stayed purely physical, she and Jon were the epitome of the perfect relationship.  There was nothing their intertwined bodies couldn’t erase.

For a little while, anyway.

Alison be damned.  Rachel was going to take the hit that Jon was giving her.  She was going to enjoy the rise and fall of his rock hard chest against her back until either he woke up or the boundaries of her bladder reached their limit.

It was inevitable that once they were both conscious, they would have to return the real world.  That included Rachel being a big girl and reaffirming that their worlds didn’t – and couldn’t – include one another.  Whatever Jon’s reason for showing up at her door last night, it didn’t change that simple and painful fact.  She would hear him out and send him on his way as she had planned to do last night. 

Then...  Then she’d tamp down her foolish euphoria and work on recovering the backward steps that his presence had shoved her.

She sighed deeply, jostling his arm in the process.  Wasn’t that the way it always was?  One step forward and two steps back?  Such was the path of a recovering Jon-a-holic.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Jon’s scruffy chin nuzzling her neck and his arm tightening around her waist, holding her firmly next to him.  His sniffly morning voice sent goosebumps dancing up her back when murmuring, “Mmm… don’t move.  I haven’t felt this good waking up in months.”

Make that three steps back and counting. 

It was hard to believe how satisfied Rachel felt, waking in his arms, hearing his voice in her ear, feeling his body next to hers.  Three, five or ten steps... it didn’t matter.  She was willing to trade the impending despair and longing that his departure would bring for just a few more minutes of this borrowed bliss.

She settled back into him, pulling the blanket up around their shoulders to ward off the chill of the house and she wound her fingers between his.  “Remember that when your back is too sore too walk, old man.”

“You obviously aren’t familiar with the ‘not old, just older’ philosophy,” he grumbled, while nibbling her neck and pressing his ever-reliable morning hard on against her.

He wants you, Rachel.  It wouldn’t take any encouragement at all for him to fuck you right here on the couch. 

The thought had her skin prickling with an awareness that almost made her itch.

That’s not ten steps back, it’s ten thousand. 

It was time to take care of business.  Rachel pushed the blanket back and sat up, dropping her feet to the floor and glancing over her shoulder.  No man had a right to look that good after a crappy night’s sleep on a sofa.  It wasn’t fair. 

Turning back to the fireplace, she pushed a hand through the top of her hair and sighed, “When are you going to tell me why you’re here, Jon?”

He blew out his own heavy breath and patted her hip.  “So much for enjoying the moment, huh?”

It was chilly in here, Rachel noted, not willing to turn and face him.  She should get up and start a fire to warm the house.  Almost as an afterthought she told him, “It’s too easy to get lost in enjoying the moment.  I just want to know what last night was all about.”

She stood, rubbing her arms as she moved to the fireplace and put the last two logs on top of last night’s cold ashes.  He groaned quietly as he sat up and she knew, without looking, that he was rubbing his face before skimming his hands through the top of his hair.  She’d seen him do it a hundred times.

“Now that you’re not loaded on sleeping pills, maybe you can stay awake long enough to find out.” 

His remark didn’t carry an air of annoyance, but it put her on the defensive just the same. 

“You know I don’t take that stuff often,” she informed him, darting a quick frown over her shoulder.  He nodded his head agreeably as the first flame sparked to life. 

“I DO know that – so you get a pass for last night.  But this morning I want your undivided attention until I’m finished.  Can you do that?”

If it would get him out of her house and allow her to return to her regularly scheduled Jon-free life...

“I can,” she affirmed, putting the matches back in their box on the mantle. “But first I need to let the office know I’m not coming in.”

He pushed to his feet, scratching his chest as he nodded again.  “You go call work and I’ll make coffee.   And then… we’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk.”

It didn’t sound so much ominous as... draining.  He was going to completely drain her before he left.  She could feel it.

“I’m gonna need coffee for this conversation, aren’t I?”

He laughed softly at her suspicious question.  “You are.  Probably two cups.”

She sighed.  She hadn’t been wrong.  Whatever he had on his mind, it was heavy. 

“Alright, Jon.  I can only assume that whatever brought you here in the middle of the night must be important, so you win.  I’ll hear you out.” 

It was amazing how the worry lines on his forehead could so easily be erased by her assurance that he would be heard.  Of course, while his worry lines were gone, hers had only begun to form. 

This would be different, she told herself.  It didn’t matter if he was a persistent man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.  No matter why he was here, she wasn’t going to allow herself to turn into a handful of putty, subject to his will.  Rachel wouldn’t let her heart and body make decisions that were contrary to what her brain knew was best. 

Call the office so you can get this over with before you lose that resolve.

Intending to use the phone upstairs, she moved toward the door in that direction – only to have him catch her elbow as she passed him by.  She ignored the chills that his touch brought as she looked questioningly up into his eyes. 

“Rach,” he beseeched quietly.  “When we talk later, I want you to remember how this felt.”

Don’t, Rachel.  Don’t let him suck you in.  Keep things as light and impersonal as you can at this stage of the game.

She lifted her eyebrows questioningly, with a bland smile.  “You mean my overfull bladder, which is about to explode?”

“No, smartass.  Waking up together, just … talking.  Remember it, okay?”