Free Waking Up by Amanda Carpenter

table in front of her, “Jason told me that you went out with Linda last night. I took a guess. She’s the one you’re thinking of, isn’t she?”
    For a moment he didn’t say anything, but then with some heat he exclaimed, “Never in my life have I taken out one woman to discuss another! Yes, damnit, and I’m sorry. I just can’t get her out of my mind.”
    “She seems to have that kind of personality,” Robbie said mildly, though it wasn’t exactly Linda’s personality that she was thinking of. A sort of resigned sadness settled on her shoulders while she took her cup and sipped at her hot drink. She wondered briefly, without malice, how it would feel to attract all sorts of men, to hold their attention even when they weren’t with you.
    “You take it so very serenely,” said Ian oddly then, as he reached for one of her hands, cradling it briefly.
    Their eyes met in perfect understanding. “I’ve never been possessive of you.”
    “I know,” he replied, gently squeezing her fingers. “And sometimes I regret that very much.”
    Then she smiled with affectionate malice. Given she didn’t know whether it was directed at him, or herself. “But only sometimes,” she said softly and returned the pressure of his hand quickly before withdrawing her hand. “Only sometimes.”
    He took her home, and they sat for several moments in his car, talking quietly. Then Ian told her, “My attitude tonight doesn’t mean a thing, you know. I hope that you’ll continue to see me, Robbie. I enjoy being with you very much.”
    She patted his cheek and opened her door. “Ian, you enjoy anything in a skirt,” she said, which made him laugh as he climbed out and saw her to her front door. He waited beside her, a dark, handsome, wholly likeable man, and she was very, very glad that she was not in love with him as she turned to face him. Being in love with Ian could break one’s heart. “Give me a call.”
    He bent his head and pressed a gentle, firm kiss to the side of her mouth and then ran swiftly back to his car.
    Tiredly, Robbie entered the house, locked the front door behind her, and made her way up the stairs. She creamed off her makeup with calm, deliberate finger strokes, brushed her teeth meticulously, and went to her room to slip into a cool, cotton nightshirt. Her window was shut, and the room felt stiflingly warm, so she went to thrust up the glass pane. A cool breeze wafted in and licked at her skin, making her sigh as she stared out at the blue and gray shadowed, familiar night.
    Her fingers tangled in the sides of her nightshirt, and she looked down at her slim figure, suddenly, dully bitter. She raised her hands and cupped her slight breasts, touching at her nipples and then running her fingers down her slim waist and hips. No creamy, luscious body to adorn with extravagant nightwear here. No full, burgeoning breasts or generous hips to incite a man to lusting passion. No enticing features, lustrous, beckoning eyes, or glossy falling curls for a man to bury his face into.
    A hot wave of angry yearning trembled through her. She was a good friend, oh yes, she was a great, understanding pal to one and all.
    Good sport, good listener, good for laughs. She whirled and threw herself onto her bed, and drove her clenched fist violently into her pillow while she thought of the womanly ideal, satin creamy skin, and the passion of men.
     
     
    Her week went by much as the others had done before it, though she couldn’t seem to shake the restlessness that had plagued her since Sunday night. She worked hard, cleaned the house until it was spotless, and trimmed and pruned outside until Herb said he doubted anything would grow again, and all this was in an effort to tire herself enough so that she could sleep the night through.
    Marilyn, her favorite coworker at the restaurant, was having a birthday party that Saturday afternoon and evening, and she had warned Robbie well in advance so that she could sign off work to