If I Fall by Anna Cruise Page B

“Wanna sleep first?”
    I'd done a lot of other things with him but falling asleep together wasn't one of them. Sharing a bed and sleeping somehow seemed much more intimate than having sex. I realized I wanted to. More than anything. I snuggled next to him and, with the sound of his heart as my lullaby, closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.
    I don't know what roused me. Maybe it was the seagulls outside, their squawks sounding through the opened window, or maybe it was the sound of a car alarm beeping a few blocks away. My eyes fluttered open and it took me a minute to register where I was. In Aidan's arms, my chin nestled against his chest. His breathing was slow, even. I shifted so I could look at him, at his eyelashes resting on his cheek, at the way his mouth curved into the smallest of smiles, even while he slept. At his pinkened, sunburned nose and the slightest hint of blond stubble on his chin. I sighed.
    His eyes opened then, startling me just a bit, and he smiled at me. He looked boyish, sweet, innocent. All of the things he wasn't.
    “ You hungry?” he asked, yawning.
    I realized I was. “Yeah.”
    He kissed me. “Let's find something to eat.”
    He threw back the covers and hauled me out of bed. Just like that, he was refreshed, energized, ready to go.
    We padded into the kitchen together. Aidan pushed me into a chair while he cooked. I watched him as he moved through the kitchen. He didn't look out of place there, rummaging in the fridge, cracking eggs into a stainless steel bowl, digging through painted pine cupboards and drawers as he searched for a pan and spatula. He looked at home, at ease, as if cooking was something he did frequently, something he did well. He hovered over the stove, pouring eggs into a small frying pan and sprinkling them with shredded cheese. After a minute or so, he picked up the pan and swirled it, loosening the edges before using the spatula to fold the omelet in half.
    My lunch was set in front of me, a golden omelet and a tall glass of orange juice. Aidan grabbed his own and joined me.
    I took a bite. “This is really good. I didn't know you could cook.”
    “ Damn straight,” he said. “Gotta keep some things secret, you know?”
    I smiled. I didn't think I'd kept any secrets from him. I was an open book, as far as he was concerned.
    He asked, just like I knew he would. “Tell me something about you that I don't know.”
    I thought for a minute, trying to come up with something. He was the only person who knew everything about me, who knew me inside and out. He knew all the details about my dad and Cheri and how I really felt about them; about my poor excuse for a mother and how I worried about her; about my lost friendship with Jada; about my newest hobbies that had replaced anything I might have liked to do before meeting him.
    “Um...” I thought for a minute. “I play guitar a little. Used to write songs in junior high and stuff.” I tried to remember the last time I'd picked it up, but I couldn't. It sat in the corner of my room, propped against the wall, gathering dust.
    “ Really? Well, there you go. I had no clue.” He speared a piece of egg and chewed. “You want to be in a band or something?”
    I shook my head before he could even finish asking. “No, no, no. No performances. I hate being on stage. No.”
    “Would you play for me?” he asked, his voice soft.
    “ Maybe. I said I played, not that I was any good. I just like to pretend, I guess.”
    “ I bet you're good,” he told me. “You're good at everything. Everything.”
    No, I wasn't. I wasn't good at change; I wasn't good at being accepting or forgiving. I wasn't good at being understanding, or of thinking of anyone, really, but myself.
    I finished my lunch and began stacking the plates and glasses. I carried them over to the dishwasher.
    “ You don't have to clean up,” he said.
    “ I want to. You cooked, I can clean.”
    I began rinsing the plates in the sink before placing them between