Page 45 of Afterglow
Title of your sex tape
Me
Title of your sex tape
Landy
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Boner
*middle finger emoji*
The glass door of the balcony slides open, and I turn with a squint to reduce the glare of the sun.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Bea sings.
“How’s it going?”
“I submitted an appeal for the accommodations request. It takes three to six weeks for them to review it, so Dr. Gill has me trying some new methods.” She slumps into the egg-shaped chair, drawing her knees into it. “The audiobook version of the manual seems to work better than visually reading the words.”
“Good to hear.”
“But for some reason, it’s missing parts.” Her mouth scrunches to one side. “Like it’s an old edition or something.”
“Weird.”
“Right?”
Then it dawns on me. “What if I read it?”
“You’ll read my exam prep for me?”
“Notforyou,toyou. Like a live audiobook.”
“Wait, that’s actually genius.” Her hands clap together. “I could even record it and then listen to it at double the speed.” The excitement drains from her face for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do? It’s all boring legalese?—”
“I don’t mind reading.” I sit on my haunches in front of the chair, flanking her with my arms. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my time.”
Her feet slide down and rest on my thighs before she leans forward, hands cupping my jaw. I go lax into the light contact, no less than putty in her grasp.
“Okay, my little bookworm. Let’s start now.”
We don’t get through enough material to choose a date that day, but I couldn’t care less.
I spent the afternoon with her, watching her smile, making her laugh with my mispronunciations, cherishing the wrinkle in her brow, and the way her tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth when she concentrates hard.
It’s like living in a dream. I never want it to end.
We’ve got the routine down. I drop her off at work, then hit the gym or go for a run, hop in the shower then circle back to pick her up. Or if it’s Tuesday or Thursday, I drive her to therapy after making lunch together, then a few hours of studying.
“When I’ve got structure and routine, I thrive. And when I thrive, I’m happy,” Bea said at the end of the first week.
That’s what I thrive on. Being with her. Seeing her happiness.
It’s a nice little life I could get used to. But the calendar on the fridge is a stark reminder that it isn’t forever. An early date in August circled in red highlights her exam. I shrug the thought away. She’s here now. Take what you can get.
Behraz dances into the kitchen, doing the Charleston with jazz hands. “Guess who aced their flashcards?”
