It didn't seem like the laughter was hurting her side so I decided not to bring it up. I didn't want to put a damper on this lighthearted night by mentioning what had happened earlier today. I had to trust she'd know her own physical limits. And watching her now was making me happy.
Lydia was always laughing when she was a teenager. I remembered her flitting from one place to another like a brightly colored hummingbird, full of life and laughter, flirting with everyone who crossed her path. But looking back at it now, not through the eyes of a besotted seventeen-year-old boy who thought he could never have her, I saw it was harmless flirting, the kind that let everyone around her know she enjoyed them. I also understood it better now because Fionn was the same way. He charmed everyone he came into contact with, because he truly enjoyed people and he couldn't help letting them know.
I smiled over at Lydia, overjoyed to see that carefree part of her personality on display—even if only for a couple hours. After the day we'd had—after all my doubts and fears over telling her the details of my past—relaxing and watching a movie with Lydia felt like a small miracle. It felt like she might be giving me a second chance, but I didn't even dare ask her. Nor expect it.
I watched as she grinned at the screen, that wide smile that I hadn't seen on her face since she was sixteen, the one she'd always seemed to quickly amend when it slipped through, as if she didn't like something about it. She wasn't hiding it now though, and I let my eyes linger on her, soaking it in. Beautiful.
When the movie was over, I flicked it off, still chuckling. I lay back on the pillows and Lydia turned toward me, smiling. "That was terrible," she said.
I laughed. "You seemed to be enjoying it."
"I did, but it was still terrible." She laughed, but then went quickly serious, the wheels in her head obviously turning. We stared at each other for a minute. I wanted her, but I was afraid to make a move after she'd suffered an attack today, not to mention what happened the night before. Plus, I'd revealed so much to her earlier. I still felt insecure and unsure about what she thought of me, about where we stood. But would she be in my bedroom if she wasn't interested in me physically anymore? Was she thinking the same thing I was? That she wanted to make love more than she wanted to breathe?
"Lydia—"
"Let's talk," she said.
"Talk?" I blinked.
"Yeah, like, let's have a sleepover and stay up talking."
"A sleepover? Stay up talking?"
She nodded. The sleepover part sounded promising, the talking, not so much. "Yeah. Didn't you ever have sleepovers when you were a kid?"
I shook my head. "My mam was sick for a long time."
Her eyes widened and she frowned. "You were robbed of so many things," she said sadly. She took a deep breath. "Okay, well, it's never too late. We can make up for the sleepovers you never had."
I wanted to tell her that the only sleepover I was interested in with her was the one where we were both naked and her legs were spread open, but I was pretty sure the sleepover she was talking about was of a different nature.
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.
"First,” she said, "you need to get in your PJs and we need to get under the covers."
"My PJs?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah, your PJs. Your pajamas."
"Do men wear pajamas?"
"You don't?" She frowned.
I raised a brow. "I'd think you'd know that better than anyone considering you took inventory of my clothes."
She laughed softly. "Hmm. Now that I think about it, you're right. How about sweat pants?"
"Workout shorts?"
"There you go. Perfect. Go get changed and come back."
"Sleepovers seem to have a lot of rules," I grumbled, mostly due to sexual frustration. Not only did this sleepover involve lots of talking, but it also involved clothes. But I did as Lydia told me to and changed into a pair of workout shorts and returned to bed. Lydia frowned. "What?" I asked.
"No shirt?" She shook her head and licked her lips.
"I think it's a better idea if we both wear shirts." That buoyed my spirits. She was still affected by me, too. Maybe this sleepover would turn into something more than . . . talking. I grabbed a T-shirt and put it on. Although, if I was really going to make an issue of it, I'd mention that her tank top really didn't leave much to the imagination and I was having a particularly difficult time not letting my eyes wander down to her cream puffs.
Lydia turned the covers back and slipped under them. I joined her, turning toward her on the pillow. She reached over her shoulder and flicked off the lamp, casting the room in near darkness.
"I've never spent the night with another woman," I said.
She tilted her head on the pillow, blinking at me for a moment. "You haven't? Never?" She paused. "Brogan, haven't you been with anyone other than . . . those women." Those women. Funny, that's how I thought about them, too.
"No."
"No," she whispered, sounding disbelieving. "Haven't you dated at all?"
"No. I mean, not unless it was for your benefit." I shot her a small smirk, and she let out a breathy-sounding laugh, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.
"Well, but . . . why?"
"I guess I've been so focused on accumulating wealth." Safety. "I haven't really had time." I was quiet for a moment and Lydia waited, watching me. "And I guess my past . . . maybe I just . . . wanted to distance myself from it for a while . . ." That felt right although I wasn't sure I wanted to delve into it too much—not right now at least.