Page 146 of Breaking the Rules
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter
Watching Disney movies while downing copious amounts of coffee and chocolate chip pancakes is a hell of a party.
The most fun I've had in a long time.
The most fun I've had sober… ever.
We talk about nothing and everything throughMulan,The Lion King, andInside Out.
Apparently, the Disney marathon has relaxed enough to include Pixar.
I lobby for the addition ofStar WarsandMarvel.
Emma sticks her tongue out and mutters something about being done with Matt Murdoch's brooding bullshit.
But when I get home from work on Sunday and start season two ofDaredevil, she joins me on the couch.
She mocks the show at every turn.
Rolls her eyes at every one-liner.
Complains endlessly about the mismatched plot lines.
But, the next night, she joins me for another few episodes.
She scoots closer.
Until we're close enough to touch, kiss, fuck.
We're too close.
But we're still not close enough.
* * *
Wes breaks the silence.
It's Tuesday afternoon. I'm two appointments down and dreading the third. It's not just that this client is a known pain in the ass.
Or my itch to move.
Or the way Emma is sitting at the counter, pretending she's not staring.
It's how completely out of my depths I am.
This is supposed to be an epic piece.
It's supposed to be fucking art.
For once, I actually poured myself into it.
This old-school lighthouse is my client's vision.
But it's mine too.
The tiny beacon of hope in the darkness.
