mirrabella: переводы

→I slid into bed and pressed myself up against his back, lightly tossing an arm over him. He stirred slightly, and I couldn’t resist pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder. The scent of cinnamon and musk washed over me as he snuggled closer. Despite sternly chastising myself that he needed to sleep, I lightly ran my fingers along his arm and sneaked in another kiss.

→I didn’t mean to scream as loudly as I did. It just kind of happened.

→A few things hit me at once. First, Seth didn’t wear any sort of cologne or aftershave that smelled like cinnamon. Second, Seth’s voice didn’t sound like that. Third, and perhaps most importantly, Seth wasn’t in bed with me.

→“Mmm,” he murmured, rolling over toward me. “That feels nice.”

→I used my key to let myself in and slipped through the condo as silently as possible. I practically lived here lately and had no trouble finding my way around furniture in the darkness. When I reached his bedroom, I could just barely make out his form wrapped up in covers, softly outlined in the light of his alarm clock. I quietly took off my coat and then shape-shifted into a cotton babydoll nightgown. It was sexy but not blatantly so. I planned on sleeping with him tonight, for real.

→I knew it was necessary. I loved Seth’s family and had helped them out as well. But I still hated seeing Seth run himself down and knew that it hurt him to put his work on hold. He claimed his writing was the least of his problems right now and had time before deadlines were an issue, particularly since his next two books were queued for printing next year. I couldn’t argue against that, but the sleep issue? Yeah, I was on him a lot about that and glad to see my words had gotten through tonight.

→I left Capitol Hill for Seattle’s University District and Seth’s condo. All the windows were dark when I pulled up, and I couldn’t help a smile. It was almost eleven. Seth must have called it an early night, something I’d been urging him to do for a while. Thinking of that, my smile faded as quickly as it had come. A few months ago, Seth’s sister-in-law, Andrea, had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The disease had been pretty far advanced when caught, and although she’d almost immediately gone into treatment, the outcome still wasn’t promising. Worse, the treatments had taken a huge physical toll on her, one that was testing the family’s strength. Seth was frequently helping them out, especially when his brother Terry was working, since it was harder for Andrea to care for their five daughters now. Seth had been sacrificing both sleep and his writing career to look after them.

→To his credit, Peter sent me home with some chocolate fondue sauce and a Tupperware bowl filled with fruit and marshmallows. Hugh and Cody were running forward with the bowling team plan, trying to come up with a practice schedule. Jerome and Carter said little and instead kept watching each in other a speculative, knowing way that was typical of them. It was hard to read much on their faces, but for once, Jerome gave off the vibe of having the upper hand.

→His stern look stopped me from any more protests. “Well,” I pointed out pragmatically, “at least I have a few ideas.”

→Peter held up a hand to silence me. “You drew the name. That’s who you’ve got. No arguments.”

→“I can’t—”

→I drew a piece of paper and opened it up. Georgina.

→“No complaining,” he argued. He hurried to the kitchen and returned with a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a snowman. He thrust it toward me. “Draw. Whatever name you get is who you’re buying for, so don’t try to get out of it.”

→“Oh, come on—”

→“Wait!” Peter sprang up after me. “You have to draw for Secret Santas first.”

→“By ‘home,’ I actually meant Seth’s,” I said. “But if I see Roman, I’ll let him know you’ve found a good use for his formidable cosmic powers.” Roman—Jerome’s half-human son and my roommate—actually was a pretty good bowler, but I didn’t want to encourage Jerome.

→“When you get home, tell my wayward offspring that I need him to coach you guys,” said Jerome.

→“What’s our team name going to be?” asked Cody. That immediately degenerated into a conversation of truly terrible suggestions, such as Soulless in Seattle and Split Decision. After almost an hour, I couldn’t handle any more.

→Peter sighed, looking rather woebegone. “Where on earth am I going to find tasteful bowling shoes?”

→“I don’t really like your use of ‘us,’ seeing as you’ve already written off any participation on your part,” I pointed out to Jerome, imitating his earlier snide tone.