Page 99 of Take 2
“Um, my parents are home!”
We both laugh at how ridiculous it is to say that in our thirties. “Should I ask them if I can take you on a date tonight?”
“Don’t let the Frappuccino fool you into thinking I’m younger than I am.”
“Well, we went back to condoms, so how should I know how much of college we’re repeating?”
I pinch him and laugh. “It was kind of force of habit. And we hadn’t been together in a really long time.”
“I didn’t complain. Just saying … you know I wouldn’t have put you at risk for anything.”
“I know.”
“And it had beena while.I may have taken your theory on us meeting in our thirties a little too seriously and had a countdown to your thirtieth birthday.”
His warmth seeps through me. “I guess we’ve proven the theory about women in their thirties.”
“Are you going to try to maintain our pace from the trip?”
I shrug. “I’ll need a lot of sex cookies.”
“That can be arranged.” This kiss feels more movie-perfect than the yacht, hot mess and all. His nose brushes mine, and he speaks close to my lips. “Are you my girlfriend today?”
“Looks like it.” He pulls up away from my face, giving me a full view of his smile. “This isn’t the movie script second chance you planned, though.”
“You’ve always been good at wrecking my plans.”
Chapter Forty
One Year Ago
Myapartmentbecameaprison cell this year, buttodaywe shall be excited to hang out in here, damn it. Everything is weird, but it’s still the mother fucking Academy Awards, and that is about as composed as I can feel about it in these trying times.
“Who wants to be around people anyway?” James asks as the bottle opens with apop.
“Nobody,” I say as I take out the glasses.
“I’ve actually enjoyed being a bubble person.” He fills my glass first.
“Same.” I tap my glass to his while he’s still filling it. We’ve been each other’s bubble, so the past thirteen months have been … survivable. If we’re being honest, we didn’t spend all that much time with other people before this, anyway. It’s just not beingable tothat makes it worse.
“And this year’s show is so weird.” He gestures to the TV, where coverage switches between Union Station and the Dolby Theatre and freaking Zoom streams.
“An utter shitshow.”
“This was a good year to be out of it.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“And, girl, I’m so impressed you wore a dress.”
I kick my leg up, no doubt flashing my panties. “I. Even. Shaved.”
“Wow.” He mock bows to my greatness.
“Plus, it’s a nice excuse to wear real-ish clothes.”
“Shirt dress counts as real clothes, with the added bonus of looking like you just had sex.” Perhaps I subconsciously included it in one of my many online shopping binges for this reason. But the button-down dress pretending to be a man’s shirt is cute and comfy and just the right level for this year’s awards.
