Page 137 of Down Bad

“Not on purpose.”

“I’m pretty sure we slept in a bed before. My bed.”

“I don’t think so.”

He pulls away to argue, and I just put a kiss on his lips to shut him right up. Works every time.

After showering, we slip under the sheets with nothing on at all. He tucks me against his body, playing big spoon, and I enjoy every second of his warmth. His face is nuzzled into my neck, his breaths softly crashing over my shoulder. “Dunno if this was a good idea,” he groans against my neck. “Having your hot body all naked and pressed up against me like this …”

“Sleepy time,” I tell him, holding his arm around my waist like a belt, locking our bodies together. “Sexy time was earlier.”

“Sexy time is any damned time we want it to be.”

I chuckle, then just keep myself snuggled inside his embrace. He drops it soon after, settling against me, seeming just as happy to hold me as he is to have sex with me.

It’s nearly just as satisfying, the feeling of being held.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me.

Like nothing on earth can possibly bring me harm.

Diego. My protector.

It hits me. Is that what Connie meant, calling him a gargoyle? Besides being statues perched above the doors to old buildings, I forgot their actual purpose: To watch over. To protect. Guardians of the home. I guess Diego is, in so many ways, the guardian of mine.

I’m still thinking of that notion when the sun rises over my face, bringing in the morning. I can’t say how soundly I slept, only that I’m surprised our naked bodies didn’t wake us back up for the sexy times Diego wanted so badly.

I smell eggs and toast again, but nothing’s burning. The scent draws me out of bed, into a pair of boxers, and down the hall to the kitchen. Diego is at the counter cooking in his underwear.

I smile, overcome with a sort of warm, buttery emotion I can’t name. I could sure get used to this.

While we eat plates of eggs and toast—the eggs are still way overdone, but I’m starting to appreciate the taste of them being scrambled with zero percent runniness—I remember something Lance texted me the other day. “Tuesday evenings,” I tell Diego, “some people hang out at Tumbleweeds to shoot pool, drink, and just blow off some midweek steam. It’s located right between our workplaces, actually. Wanna meet up there after work?”

I’m prepared for Diego to do his usual. Shrug, turn me down, and say something about waiting for my sexy ass to return to his house afterwards where he’ll be waiting sprawled out on his bed, naked and horny.

Instead, he surprises me with: “Sure, I’ll be there.”

I lift my eyebrows.

He chuckles. “Don’t look so surprised.” He chomps off a bite of toast and swallows. “I can be social.”

“You just said the word like it’s a disease.”

He stuffs the rest of the toast into his mouth. “It is.”

I have to laugh.

Diego heads back to his house to change for work. I get ready myself, sprucing up my hair and brushing my teeth. I take us in my car, insisting to spare him the walk under a particularly harsh morning sun. After dropping him off at Whitaker Auto, I head the rest of the way to Wishing Blooms, feeling so light on my feet that I’m nearly skipping up to the door to let myself in.

I go behind the counter and flip on the computer to check my emails, already running through lists in my head of what I need to do, deliveries to prepare for the weekend, seeds and soil to order, tasks I can set aside for Cash.

That’s when I spot the email at the top of my inbox:

Mr. Callahan,

Bellamy Events has made the decision to discontinue our standing floral arrangement with Wishing Blooms effective immediately. Going forward, we will be diversifying our vendors and addressing floral needs on an event-by-event basis. Existing obligations will of course be honored under the terms of our current agreement.

We appreciate the years of excellent service you have provided and wish you and your business continued success.