Page 93 of Prince Charmless
The combination of his bedhead and goofy after-sex smile has me grinning in every sort of way. I’ve turned him wild, unkempt.
“You are the most beautiful blurry flesh-colored blob I’ve ever laid my useless eyes on,” he says with all sincerity.
I like the way he compliments me.
Taylor shifts closer to give me a kiss on the shoulder. My skin is tacky, and so is his.
“When do you have to go back?” I ask.
I bear witness to some great arm porn as he reaches over my head to grab his phone. The bed shifts under me like a tectonic plate.
“Now...ish,” he says, squinting at the time.
By his sigh and mine, I can tell we’d both rather just lie here till the end of time.
“Do you have princing to return to?”
He flops down on the mattress and stares up at the ceiling. “What are we going to do after this?”
“Like when we get home? I was thinking we could just keep having sex...if that’s okay.” What’s done is done, right? Might as well make the most of this bad idea.
“We should go to Austria,” he says. “They have those Sound of Music tours. We can frolic through the Alps.”
I sit up, taking the sheets to cover me. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you have against Austria? Even if I don’t have anything against Austria.”
Looking straight down at him, I ask, “Are you being serious right now?”
“I’m always serious.” He brushes my hair out of his face like opening curtains.
“You want me to drop everything and travel the world with you? I have a job.” Which I’m now behind on because of this impromptu sex-cation.
He sits up. “You’re the one who told me to put in effort.”
“Yeah, but not with me, you dork!” I flick his head. “You can’t date me!”
“Why? You have a husband?” He leans in closer. “Do you need him killed?”
“It’ll be like you’re interviewing me for a job, I can’t take.”
“It’s not like there are any requirements,” he says. “Except for being Catholic, maybe. Thought it’d probably just take a Sunday to convert. You don’t have to believe it, I just go on major holidays and eat the cracker they give me.” He puts up a hand. “We can talk about this later.”
I shake my head. “I’m already baptized.”
“Hallelujah.”
“Taylor,” I say seriously. “I’m not talking about religion.”
“Then what are you talking about? All I want is to spend more time with you.”
I’m talking about how a working-class woman of no status whose father is incarcerated doesn’t really fit the perfect princess profile. Slapping a tiara on her would be the joke of the century.
I don’t say a word of this to Taylor. Instead, I climb out of bed and head to the washroom for the things he’s saying are ridiculous. I’m not shy about flaunting my naked backside. There’s none of me he hasn’t seen.
“Do you need help?” Taylor shouts when I close the door.
My snort echoes between the white tile walls. “With showering?”
