Page 36 of The Ex Factor

“Must be you.”

She threw her head back on the couch.

I leaned forward and pulled the hassock under both our feet.

“More wine?” I asked.

She lifted her glass, and I leaned to grab the bottle from the table to refill it.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

I turned on the TV and handed her the remote.

“You think that’s a wise idea? This is literally the remote control you’re handing me.”

I smiled. “I trust you.”

She gave an ominous smirk. “That is a really bad decision, Sujit Rao. You don’t know me yet.”

I relaxed against the couch and said, “I know you enough to trust you completely.”

Her smile was one of surprise and relief as she flipped through the apps to figure out what to watch. We settled on a thriller, but an hour into the movie, her head slipped against my shoulder. She had fallen asleep with an empty wine glass resting upright on her thigh. I gave her a few more minutes to slide into deep sleep before turning off the television. I picked up the glass that had dropped to her side and laid her on the couch. She stirred when I got her a pillow and a blanket, but it didn’t break her sleep. What reassured me was the knowledge that the couch was comfortable. I had spent countless nights on it when I fell asleep working or watching TV.

The next morning,she was still asleep when I went into the kitchen to make coffee.

She sat up with a start and looked around. “Shit!”

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“You’re a crafty woman, aren’t you? You did end up spending the night here.”

She smiled. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“You can use the master. I’ve laid out a fresh toothbrush and face wash for you. Don’t judge me, though. I haven’t made my bed.”

“You slept in your comfortable bed while I was scrunched up on the couch? You are a true gentleman.”

“Would you have preferred my bed instead?” I asked cheekily.

The last two meetings had changed our equation. We seemed to be getting along like old friends, teasing and joking. It was refreshing.

“In your dreams,” she responded with a light scoff.

“I don’t dream about you,” I said as I turned on the coffee machine.

“Yeah? What do you dream about?”

“I dream of spending a relaxing day somewhere, catching up on sleep in a hammock on a beach. The other night, I dreamt I had front-row seats to Trevor Noah, with a VIP backstage pass.”

“Really? Trevor Noah?”

“He makes my generation look smart and well-read.”

“Your generation?” She produced a snort.

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