“Coffee?” I muttered.
My head was wedged under a pillow. I’d scooted halfway down the mattress. When you sleep with someone who is bigger and taller than you, you compensate by moving into previously unoccupied portions of the bed.
I blinked. My vision was bleary but I saw daylight seeping in around the curtains. Dawn seemed unlikely since we’d arrived home so late. I grasped the weather was gloomy and concentrated on the scent of caffeine.
“Extra strong with a healthy slug of cream, just the way you like first thing in the morning, or the afternoon as is the case today.”
I heard the smile in Logan’s voice. He sounded normal.
I frowned and blinked some more. My eyelids were scratchy, grainy like they had a fine layer of salt and scum, similar to how my skin felt after a day at the beach.
Logan set the mug down on the bedside table.
“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world.” I whispered. “Did you bring a straw?”
The bed covers drew away and I whimpered.
“Am I hung over? I don’t remember drinking many cocktails.”
“You had a few, and you devil-danced with the best of them. This is the effect of prolonged dancing and possibly, exposure. With the exception of Felice, you now have the largest fan club at The Duke’s Arms.”
He didn’t sound like he was smiling anymore.
I muttered. “Explains why my muscles are made of driftwood.” I tried lifting my head and only succeeded in opening my eyes wider. I peeked out from under the pillow and found him standing next to the nightstand. I stretched out an arm and slapped at his leg. “Nice warm man, come back to bed.”
Logan wore a pair of sweats which meant he hadn’t been up too long. He always got dressed as soon as he rolled out of bed to meet the day.
“You brought me coffee. You’re my hero. This morning that makes you my best girl.” I mumbled this out in a semi-coherent jumble.
“I find being your best girl a dubious distinction.”Logansaid. But he bent down to help me slide into a sitting position.
Once his arms wrapped around me, I took advantage and pulled. He let me tug him down. I snuggled up under him as he braced himself off the mattress on his elbows.
“You smell good.” My sluggish brain started to waken. “You’re right; Ritchie can stay my best girl.”
Logan’s expression spoke volumes.
“Do you know I once had an imaginary conversation with Ritchie, telling him all about the virile male who lived next door?” I peeked at Logan’s disturbed face. “I didn’t actually say you were virile because I knew he’d laugh himself silly. Of course when Ritchie turned around and used the word inimitable with Mrs. Nesbit, I almost choked on my Gimlet.”
I wrapped my legs over his thighs and jerked. He didn’t budge, even with all of me suspended beneath him. The muscles in my arms and legs shrieked with alarm.
“What word should I use when referring to you?”
He leered at me. “How about the most obvious one?”
“Lover, of course, but I could also do companion, partner, or consort.” I nipped at his chin.
“Oh, consort is good. I like that one.” He stroked my temple with a long finger, balancing our combined weights on one hand with no evident strain. “Tell Ritchie I said he can stay your best girl and I’ll take the title of consort.”
I laughed at the satisfaction on his face.
He bent toward me, lips slightly parted.
I squealed and dodged. “Bed breath!”
He settled for kissing a trail down my cheek and biting lightly along my collar-bone. He rolled to one side, settling down so smooth the bed barely moved.
“Drink your coffee.” He instructed, stretching out long legs.
I complied. A quick glance showed the clock hands at almost half past noon. I’d never slept this late before but it had been after four in the morning before we arrived home.Loganmust have carried me inside and put me to bed. I had no memory of getting out of the car and only the vaguest recollection of leaving the party.
“Why do I remember Chen smiling?” I frowned. That couldn’t have happened. The man never smiled. “Did he actually laugh?”
Logan chuckled. “I’m sure a notice will be affixed to a wall of the pub commemorating the date and time.”
A fractured image bloomed in my memory. I moaned. “I’m not sure I want to remember all the details.”
“No worries. I recall the evening with chilling clarity.” His voice went dry. “There are many helpful individuals who will find the image of you with your dress hiked up to the top of your thighs as you shimmied under the limbo pole, hard to forget.”
I rolled over and buried my burning cheek against his chest. “Did I embarrass you?”
He whispered next to my ear. “Don’t be silly. I was jealous of every man who admired you but I knew you were coming home with me. I survived. Cheer up, so did everyone else present.”
I snuggled against Logan, enjoying the warmth of his body. “I have one more question.” I said finally.
His voice sounded amused. “Yes?”
“I imagined that scene out front, didn’t I?” I tried to shut out the alarming visual. “That was just a flamingo dream, right?”
“Not a chance.” Logan said with satisfaction.
“There must be dozens of them.”
“You can thank your best friend Ritchie for the fifty pink flamingos on our lawn.” Admiration filled his voice.
“Okay, that’s a pretty good April Fool’s prank.” I grudgingly admitted. “It beats the stripper-gram I sent.”
Flash Fiction Challenge: The Paint Color Title Scheme @ www.terribleminds.com
Lesann Berry 