Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming (8 page)

“
You always know the right things to say! Thanks, Dave
!”

“
Anytime, kiddo. Feel better!!
”

After a trip to the urgent care and pharmacy, I returned to the apartment and made myself a cozy nest on the sofa and did as the nurse advised elevating my foot over the armrest. Now came the fun part, waiting for Matt to arrive with dinner. I knew he’d blow a gasket seeing my ankle, especially since I hadn’t told him how bad it was in the text, just that I hurt it.

I read a chapter in a book, but my attention was lost, examining the apartment. It was a pigpen in comparison to my usual standards. I hadn’t tidied the place in at least a week. Despite the dreaded one-footed challenge, I hobbled my way around using the nob of the crutch to pick up laundry. I lit a few candles and turned down the lights to hide the dust, then slightly jarred the windows for fresh air and did the dishes. Luckily, my idea of a pigpen was slightly exaggerated. I had more books and magazines lying around than anything else, making it an easy cleanup.

I could hear Matt ascending the stairs. I turned on my good heel and fell back onto the sofa, swinging my leg onto the cushion that remained on the coffee table. I tried to emulate a look of complete relaxation to not worry him.

“Hi, honey, I’m home.” He entered with a large handled bag. As he approached, it gave away the scent of Chinese food and freesia.

“Hi, lover.” I tried to sound sexy.

“Hope you’re hungry! I got your Chow-mien and sum-young-pork.” He grinned, amused with his humor. “Look at you all chilled back and… broken!” His grin withered to a mirthless smile, setting the bag on the table.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” I tucked my hair behind my ears.

“When you said you hurt your ankle, I was expecting a bruise, not a trip to the hospital.” He removed a floral bouquet from the bag then headed into the kitchen for a vase.

“Beautiful flowers, Thank you. The vase is under the sink. It’s no biggie, I’ve hurt it enough times in dance to no longer stress over it,” I said casually.

“No biggie huh?” After setting the arrangement on the table, he leaned over me for a quick kiss. “I’m sorry you’re wounded. I wish I could make it feel better.” He looked upset examining my swathed ankle. “Is the pain at least tolerable?”

“No, I’m dying… for another kiss that is.” I held my hands up for a hug.

He leaned over to kiss me. He smelled incredible, like a perfect mixture of sexiness and Asian food. My stomach agreed and growled ferociously from the delectable aromas.

“Sounds like I’m just on time!” He gave me a hug.

“Yes, you are!” He almost stood back up, but I reached, grabbing his collar, and pulled him back over me. “I think I’d rather start with dessert first.” I reached kissing him.

“You sure are frisky for being wounded.” He chuckled. “I’m not complaining though.”

“Vicodin,” I mumbled. “Little pain.”

“Well, baby doll, dessert will have to wait. You should eat dinner first so you don’t spoil your appetite, especially if you’re on pain meds. The last thing I want is to see you get sick.”

“Is food really preventing us from having sex?”

“It’s not, starvation is, and I can’t possibly do it with your stomach growling like that. It sounds like grizzlies fighting.” He pinned my grabby hands above my head. “I must admit I do like your one track mind, however.” His brows popped a couple times.

“Wanting sex more than once a week is not considered having a one track mind. I’m pretty sure any less is defined as deprivation.”

“Oh, poor baby, I almost feel sorry for you.” He gave me another kiss, quickly slithering from my hands, and scuttled to the table, retrieving our food and chopsticks.

***

A
fter eating dinner, Matt unwrapped my ankle, looking it over.

“What the hell? You really messed this up, didn’t you?”

“Matt, it’s not that bad, trust me. It just looks really bad. I did this all the time in dance.”

He rewrapped it. “Come on.” He carried me to the bedroom. “I’m going to grab an ice pack,” he said, setting me on the bed.

“There should be a sandwich bag with a block of ice in it. Aimee made it and I refroze it after it melted.” I rolled onto my side making myself comfortable.

“Got it.” He returned with a washrag and icepack and held it on my ankle.

“You’re so good to me, thank you for everything. Dinner, flowers, now my personal doctor.” I was feeling extra special.

“I try hard.”

“I think it comes naturally.”

“I love you, I want to care for you, especially when you’re broken.”

“That’s sweet. My boss offered me a saw to cut it off. Would you still love me if my foot had to be amputated?”

“Assuming that’s not about to happen, yes. I’d love you if all your limbs fell off, and your hair fell out, just saying.” He lay at my side.

“That’s a disturbing and dedicated thought.”

“By the way, I made plans for our one-year dating anniversary.”

“That is coming up, isn’t it?” I reached pulling off his baseball cap, fluffing his curls with my fingers.

“It’s tomorrow.”

“I knew that,” I said, just now remembering it was the middle of May.

“It’s going to be an awesome surprise.”

“Why do you do that? You know I hate surprises.”

“That’s exactly why. I got to get under your skin every once in a while.”

“Babe, do you not see my ankle? I can’t do much.”

“We’re staying somewhat local. I just planned an awesome afternoon on the town and you won’t have much walking to do.”

“Where are we going?”

“Nope.” He smiled. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

“Thankfully skydiving is out of the question.” I rolled onto my back, lifting my leg. “It’s starting to hurt again.” I looked at my ankle. “I think the Vicodin is wearing off.”

“It does do that after a while. You really need to keep it elevated and use the crutches as much as possible.” He ran his fingers through my hair.

“What if I said it sort of hurts too much to mess around.”

He sat up a little. “How hard did you fall? We should probably get you to the hospital. You might possibly have a concussion,” he said, teasingly studying my pupils. “Yes, I think it’s most definitely a concussion.”

I laughed. “You had your chance earlier, and denied me. Now you’re tough out of luck.” I poked at his chest, playfully.

He smirked in thought. “I’ll be right back.” He headed into the kitchen and retrieved my pain meds and a glass of water, and returned reading the label. He stacked a couple pillows forming a prop. “Here, rest your foot up here.” He handed me a Vicodin and the glass of water then set the glass on my nightstand after I took the pill.

I found a comfortable position to rest.

“Let me see your good foot.” Matt removed the sock from my unwounded foot and began rubbing it with firm hands. “Man, talk about a long week. I met the twins last night. Cute little guys.”

“Lovely. Mmm, that feels sooo good.” I naturally moaned, leaning my head back into a pillow, relaxing.

“Don’t do that.” He cast a wry expression.

I glanced at him, my eyes closed as he continued to rub. “Mmm, it feels amazing.” I peeked. His eyes looked heavy as if asking why I was torturing him. My lips matched Mona Lisa’s enigmatic smile, purring a deep groan. “Oh yeah, that’s the spot. Push harder!”

His hands froze, as did his face. He gently set my foot down. “Excuse me while I use the bathroom.”

“Sure. If you’re not done rubbing my foot, will you grab the hot oil from the medicine cabinet, pretty please?”

The bathroom door closed without a word. I turned my head and buried my face in the pillow trying not to laugh then quickly fixed my shirt, unbuttoned a couple buttons, and tucked my hair back out of my face before he returned.

He reappeared, looking satisfied, holding the bottle of oil. “I should probably take my shirt off. This might stain if I accidentally spill it.”

“Yes. You should,” I agreed.

Every muscle managed to flex, as his shirt pulled over his head. He sat back down, pulling my pant leg up, and then drizzled the oil on my foot. His fingers locked between my toes, making a gushing suction sound.

I bit down on my lip, pressing my head back into the pillow as his fingers deeply caressed my skin.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes.” I breathed. “Superb.”

“Maybe we can take your pants off so I can massage your leg.”

I carefully lifted my lower body approvingly and unbuttoned my pants.

Matt smiled, sliding my pants carefully over my compressed foot. He dribbled oil down my leg, deeply massaging up my calf and worked up to my thigh. “I should probably take my pants off too. I don’t want oil on them.”

I nodded in agreement as he stood.

He wiped his partially oiled hands on his lower abdomen. “Nice, this does heat up.” His face brightened.

I could only nod in agreement.

His pants came off, and then he returned to the bed, positioning himself at my side. He noticed the sudden change of my little cleavage now showing. “I’d hate to get oil on your shirt. Should I take it off?”

“I should probably do it.” I glanced at his oily hands.

He gazed a moment. “You are so beautiful.” He watched me remove my shirt.

“Uh-huh.” Oblivious to what he said, I agreed from my euphoric stupor. 

He continued running his hands up and down my thigh, caressing my skin. His lips gently touched my knee as his fingers traced my skin, slowly moving up and down my calf. His touch was tender and his breath even and soft.

Completely relaxed, I breathily moaned, sharing my devious satisfaction.

He worked his way up to my stomach, adding more oil, slowing his pace. He rubbed my tummy, working his way to my ribs. Catching my glazed over eyes, with a hushed whisper he asked, “move in with me.”

My cognitive functions quickly returned to normal. “Where did that come from?”

“I’ve just been thinking about it a lot.” His smile faltered, eventually fading with my change in expression. “Would it be such a big deal? We’ve already declared our love stuff for each other.”

“Love stuff, cute! But no, not until we’re married! My dad would crap a brick if I lived unwed with a man.”

“How often does your dad come to town?”

“That’s not the point.”

“This isn’t the fifties everyone lives together before marriage. It’s like a test drive before investing in a car.”

“You want to see if I’m worthy of investment?”

“No, it was an excuse.”

I stared at him without responding.

“Marry me and we won’t have to worry about it.”

“Are we having this conversation again?” I sat up, propping myself with my elbows.

“You said I had to ask your dad first,” he quoted me.

“Well, yes, I mean I…I’m just…” I stammered my words. “Wait, you…you asked my dad?”

“I get it. You’re not ready.” He leaned back and reached for his shirt, pulling it on. “I can just wait forever.”

“Wait, Matt, hold on now, you’re not being fair. I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I’m the one not being fair? You want to talk about fair, make up your mind already.” His jaw tightly showed frustration, as he slid his pants on. “You told me I had to ask your dad just to reject me?”

“You’re not seriously leaving are you?” Who on earth walks out in an argument.

“I’m going to the department for the night. I think you need some time to get your head straight, so I don’t keep making an ass of myself. Clearly, we have different agendas.”

I put my shirt on, trying to hurry through the buttons. “You caught me off guard. I just wasn’t expecting it like this, like without a ring… lying in bed, no bent knee.”

He stared at me a moment, his nonverbal communication spoke louder than words. “Sleep well, Sasha.” He walked from the room. I heard him slip his shoes on at the front door, and then leave. A moment later, his jeep drove off.

“What the hell just happened?” I searched for my cellphone, realizing it was in the other room, next to my crutches. I grimaced; carefully lowering my feet to the floor followed with a pant-less hobble through the apartment.

I positioned myself on the sofa and dialed Matt’s number. After the fifth ring, his voicemail answered. “Matthew! Come back here. You can’t just leave in the middle of our—”

“If you are satisfied with your message press one. To replay your message, press two. To rerecord your message, press three. If you are finished recording, press four.”

I pressed three. “While you’re at it, fix your voice system. You can’t just leave in the middle of our…”

As the voice system began ranting again, I furiously pressed end
on my phone. “Jerkface!” I spluttered.

It only took a few minutes before my fury turned to anguish. I couldn’t undo the humiliation I caused him. I couldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen like he hadn’t just asked, and meant it. I also couldn’t stand knowing how disappointed he was with my response. There was no justification for it or reason for not saying yes other than just being a coward. I sat holding my phone, anxiously waiting to apologize, but it didn’t ring.