DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SEQUEL: To A New Day
There are all kinds of good body memories to wake up to. The feeling after having had real good sex. The feeling after having had enough sleep to find oneself truly rested. Frankly, there hasn't been much of anything lately, so I enjoy this - the latter, I might say - even more.
It's heavenly. I keep my eyes closed, turning around to... whoa. Find myself cuddling a warm, companionable body, which is not supporting the theory that all I did was sleep.
Curled up close like this, I can't help but take notice of the shape of my bedmate, not familair to have somebody with curves like this in my bed, but the scent of her perfume is, because we've been that close often enough.
I bolt upright in bed, startling Cindy awake, too.
"Look, I kind of suspected you were a morning person. I am not, even if it's apporiximately 5 p.m.," she murmurs, hiding a yawn behind her hand.
I look from her to me, then look under the covers. Bad déja-vu... Breathe, Linds, There are clothes, on her *and* me. Nightwear, but that's okay. I finally remember that she said something about sleeping with me, which sounded really good, but then I think I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.
I dare to look at her, and almost regret it. Cindy wears the kind of happy grin on her face that you shouldn't get from just... sleeping. Together.
She catches me off guard then, her expression turning serious when she says, "I loved watching you sleep. Watching over you... It made me feel like I was the hero for once."
My eyes are just a little bright, which I know makes me look even more pitiful; I'm so lucky she doesn't care. Her hand caresses my cheek, fingers sinking into my hair, making me shiver.
I finally find my voice. "You are my hero, Lois Lane." I pull her close to me, kiss that beautiful smile, her lips soft and welcoming. I am so tired of slipping on my own regrets; this, I know, will be different.
Different from just not wanting to be alone, from living on borrowed time and past mistakes. Maybe one day, I'll even tell her about the baby... and Tom. Just not right now.
Here's another of those good body memories in the making, and...
Claire, you listening? Another step forward!
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