Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon Hunting Soccer Mom

Chapter Thirteen

As bizarre as Monday had been, it was almost disconcerting to wake up so normally on Tuesday morning. Normal, that is, except for the fact that I’d had only three hours of sleep, and my entire body felt like it had been pounded by a football team—and not in a good way.

The alarm clock chirped promptly at six o’clock. I rolled over, muttering rude things about its parentage, and slapped the snooze button. There. Guess I told it.

Beside me, Stuart muttered something that sounded like “jump through the hobbits,” but which I mentally translated as “just a few more minutes.” I muttered an agreement, tugged the covers up under my chin, and spooned against him. Nanoseconds later the alarm chirped again. (The digital readout assured me that seven full minutes had elapsed. I was not convinced.)

I slapped the alarm senseless again, then rolled over to shake Stuart’s shoulder. “Up,” I said. “Go. Earn money.” This is my contribution to making sure the family bank account stays liquid.

He groaned again, then rolled over so that he was facing me. Slowly he opened his eyes. Even more slowly he smiled. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Since I am particularly ungorgeous in the morning, these kinds of endearments simply embarrass me. I rolled away with a mumbled “Stuart ...”

He slid closer, then wrapped his arm around my hips, pulling himself closer until he was nuzzling my neck. Even half-comatose, I know better than to shun a nuzzle. “You’re perky this morning,” I said.

“Why not?’ He tugged me back around so that he was leaning over me, one finger tracing the neckline of the plain white T-shirt I’d slept in.  “I survived a car crash, locked in some campaign support, and woke up next to a beautiful woman.”

He nibbled at my neck again and I laughed. “You’re such a politician.”

“Public servant,” he shot back. He grinned, then, his mouth lifting with his own private joke.

“What?” I said, amused.

“Nothing.” His smile broadened. “Let’s just say I had a shot of confidence last night.”

“The party? It did go pretty well, all things considered.”

“The party,” he confirmed, “and ...”

“What?”

He shifted, raising one shoulder in a slight shrug as he trailed his fingertip up and down my arm. “Nothing important. Let’s just say I found a new perspective on things. I’m thinking positively, and I’m positive that this election is all locked up.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re looking at the next county attorney, sweetheart. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, I never doubted you for a minute. I mean, why would the voters want anyone else? You’re the perfect candidate.”

“A man for the people,” he said. His eyes roamed over me, his expression shifting from amused to heated. “A man for one woman ...”

He kissed me then, slow and long, and I tried to get my head around the fact that my rush-out-the-door-to-work husband wanted morning sex. (He also had morning breath, which is unusual for Stuart, but I chalked it up to too much party food.) Any potential for an amorous morning adventure, however, fizzled when Timmy’s cries of “Momma, Momma, Momma. Where you at, Momma?” blared from the baby monitor perched on the dresser.

“He’ll be fine for a few minutes,” Stuart murmured, the invitation clear in his voice.

“MOMMA!”

“He sounds pretty determined,” I said. And (true confessions moment here) I was secretly glad. Not only was my entire body sore and achy, but my mind was already spinning with all the stuff I had to do, all the little details that had to be handled in order to keep my dual life running (somewhat) smoothly. “I should probably get him.”