HARD R CHAPTER

**

Laughing at me. She's getting thrown out. I sit up and rub my shoulder that became too well aquatinted with the coffee table before I hit the floor. Pulling a pillow out from under me and having to roll over on a couch that's entirely too small . . . either I'm getting dumber or I need more sleep.

She's approaching me and she seems on the verge of busting up at any moment. Again.

"Are you okay?" she asks as she sits on the couch then, feeling the spring digging into her, she jumps up again. She looks at the worn cushion, then me.

And peals of delighted giggles again descend on my head and drop kicks my ego.

I stand up and look down at her. I don't want an argument, I don't want a disagreement, and I just want sleep.

"*I* get the bed tonight."

And with that I gather as much dignity as I can and go into my bedroom. I also almost trip twice from the sheet tangled over my feet but I kick it off and slam the door. Outside I hear her again, gasping for breath. Why shouldn't she laugh? It's me, Harry Senate, Life's bitch.

But there is my bed, all ready for me to jump in. The room smells like fake 'peach' but I don't care, it's kind of nice, good to lull you to sleep - not that I need lulled in the exhausted state I'm in. I pull off my tee shirt and then go over and pull off the light blanket, it's extremely thin but it's even too hot for that. I think the weather forecast is calling for a heat wave and I don't have the luxury they call 'air conditioning'. The only working fan I have is in the living room but I can't make my feet turn and get it, too tired.

I settle for just falling, face first, onto her mattress and hugging a pillow that actually feels slightly cool to the touch. Perfect. Sleep time. Now.

**

I finally catch my breath and wipe the slight tears from my eyes. I hope he's not too pissed in the morning. The couch is a mess with pillows and a sheet on and off of it leading to the bedroom. I feel a faint smile and I can't deny it, I'll sleep here tonight. I'm off until tomorrow night so I get to enjoy going to sleep a normal hour, all though 10:30 is a little too normal for me but I'm not picky.

But I am sweaty.

The apartment feels like it's broiling, even with the open windows, well, two windows, one in the living room and bedroom. I feel sticky and horrible and I need a shower. I quietly approach the door and turn the handle enough to peek my head inside. I have to get through the room quietly.

I step in and the light is still on, the blanket is on the floor and Harry's laying there with his hands holding a pillow his head is on and his back is facing me, his gloriously bare back. I could trace the muscles, still tense even in his sleep. His hair is so dark against the white pillowcase and he looks incredible in light blue pajama bottoms. He must have threw off his tee shirt when he came in because of the heat and I wonder how long it is before he loses the perfunctory sleepwear . . .

I shake my head and realize I may have been standing here and staring at him for a long time since I can't even recall *how* I got to be standing closer to the bed than the bathroom. I turn on heel and look only at the floor as I make my way into the bathroom and close the door softly.

**

I jerk awake when I hear something clatter and turn over to look in the direction I heard it from. Dana must have had to use the bathroom and as I look I can't even keep my head up to it falls back to the pillow I still clutch, considerably warmer now. The green neon numbers of the alarm clock tells me it's 11:08; I still have a lot of time to sleep. Sleep . . .

**

I crack the door open and feel remarkably better, cooler and more put together . . . Not that the torrent of thoughts about Harry in various stages of undress were bad exactly, just . . . distracting, very distracting. Good shower thoughts no doubt, but distracting the same.

He's still sleeping, I can see that, but he's changed positions, still on his stomach but if his eyes were open he could see me now, standing here in nothing but a towel, the thought is mortifying but a lot more exciting. I had left my clothes when I went to take my quick, cool-down and now I'm not regretting it very much.

I swing the door open and stand in the doorway, ready to run inside if need- be. The courageousness shooting through every tingling part of my body would flee like a bat out of hell if he so much peek -- it would take me with it too. I'd run back into the sanctuary behind me and jump into the bath tub, flinging the curtain shut with a bright red, blushing hand that would match the rest of me.

But for now I have bravery blooming in me, enough to take a few steps into the room and still stare at Harry lying there with a peace-filled face. My hair is still wet and cool in the humid night but the rest of me is quickly getting into the pace of a summer filled night - absolutely sweltering. I know that my nipples are pretty evident now behind the cotton towel I have a grip on and I can't stand to let my legs come together because every little brush of movement is making my breath become a little heavier.

All this from watching Harry sleep.

It's happened before; sitting in his class and watching him pace back and forth in front of me. Wearing a skirt, crossing my legs and having my thigh muscles - among others - unconsciously tensing then relaxing . . . let's just say I've come close to what usually seems so very far away.

But it was never this intense.

But I was never just wearing a towel before either.

And I wonder . . . With a glance at the dresser . . . I had already put my clothes there a few hours ago, hoping Harry wouldn't mind, hoping I'd . . . Would it be completely wrong to do what I'm about to do? My body tells me no but . . . But my mind tells me he's sleeping, pretty much a unanimous vote here doubts isn't allowed right now.

**

Click. A damn click. Why is every noise waking me up tonight? I can't get into a deep sleep no matter what. Probably something unconscious about my problems or, or I don't care I just want to go to sleep. I try to open my eyes to see what time it is but since the alarm isn't screaming in my ear know it's isn't time for work. I manage to see through the sliver my tired eyes allow me to open and . . .

I think my chest is going to explode.

No, not explode. It's just a shock to the heart is all.

Haven't I learned by now? Surprise is the word, when it has to do with Dana it's 'surprise' and does it EVER have to do with Dana.

She's standing facing the dresser giving me a complete side view of - She's looking.

My eyes snapped shut and they were pretty wide before. Not so sleepy now.

I slowly peer at her again and she's back to looking at something on the bureau top. A night gown. And panties. And no bra. And she isn't wearing any combination of those things right now. She isn't wearing ANYTHING right now.

She looks a little nervous and - She's looking.

. . . . Okay, I think it's best to keep my eyes open just enough to see her because she keep shooting me looks and - And what am I DOING? I shouldn't be formulating plans on how to be a peeping Tom right now.

Then I should really find the strength to shut my eyes.

It's not working.

She's so beautiful; her hair is soaked and loose down her back and all the skin, NAKED. Her doe eyes look at the clothes and she bites her lips, amazing lips that makes you think of things that you shouldn't think involving those lips in different situations . . .

She glances over but this time I'm ready and she can't even tell I'm watching except, she looks very unsure and I hope she doesn't grab her things and go into the bathroom. But she doesn't instead she closes her eyes and lifts one gentle hand and traces it down her graceful neck and over her collarbone, onto her . . . onto her breasts, with . . .

I want to move so badly because I'm getting hard myself and it's not easy being pressed into the mattress like this but moving is impossible. I'm not going to move an inch until . . . until what? Until she leaves, until she goes too far . . . until I do something?

. . . No. I won't do anything. And I hope she doesn't either, I hope for both our sakes. Neither of us could deal with it . . . it. A relationship?

She gasps and stops. She swallows and breaths out a shaky breath before she reaches for her underwear, bending her body forward to slip her feet into the silky looking, dark blue bit before sliding them slowly up her legs, seeming like she's enjoying every single moment of it. When the fabric gets to the tops of her thighs she sighs a little, turns and faces me as I get to watch her disappear under silk. Dana touches the front right where her . . . right where . . .

When she looks at me.

With a deep breath she stops herself and reaches for the nightgown. Black and maybe satin, the pattern of disjointed swirls only seen when the light hits at a certain angle. She slips it on and lets it fall into place, hugging herself when she's finished. And then, after all of that, she looks at me again. Swathed in black satin to mid-thigh she's incredible and she looks like she's going to cry. One second is all it takes until she turns and rushes to the door, throwing it open and closing it almost quietly just before I hear her sob.