Page 33 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
He waves dismissively. “Not worried. I’m hot blooded.”
“Okay. You’ve got your noise-canceling headphones, right?”
“Always.”
“Okay. You aren’t going to be bored, are you?”
“Not if you keep asking me awesome questions all night,” he says, grinning. He lies down on his bed, and I look down at our phones.
I guess it’s okay to leave mine down there overnight. It needs to keep charging. “Don’t look at my phone.”
“Why would I look at your phone?”
Good. He’s forgotten about the voicemail.
“No reason.”
“Oh. The voicemail.”
Shit. He remembers.
“You still haven’t erased it, huh?”
I don’t answer.
“I’m not going to hack into your phone,” he grumbles, sounding a little insulted.
“I know. I trust you.”
“I would hope so.”
“Hey.” I lean over the edge a bit so I can see him. He has one arm curled behind his head, and his bicep is all flexed and magnificent.
I wait for him to glance up at me before saying, “Thank you for coming with me. On the train. For getting this room. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
I nod and lie back with my head on the pillow. “You were really good,” I say to the ceiling right above me. Because I can’t look at him when I say this. “The monologues. That was so romantic. It was so good to see you perform like that again. You’re really talented.”
“Thank you. Thanks for getting me to do that. I mean, it was weird. But thank you.”
I’m not going to tell him about the part that lady’s casting, in case he doesn’t get called in for it. But I have a good feeling about it. “I’m gonna put my earbuds in now, okay? Good night.”
“Hang on. When do we have to get up tomorrow?”
“Whenever. Do you want me to wake you?”
“Not really. I’ve had such early call times lately. It’d be nice to sleep in if I can.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll get breakfast when I’m up and let you know where I am.”
“’Kay. G’night.”
I turn off the wall light by my bed, put my earbuds in and turn on my classical relaxation playlist.
The rhythmic rocking of the train is surprisingly soothing and also very surprisingly…arousing. I realize I’ve absentmindedly been doing Kegel exercises as I lie here listening to a Chopin cello sonata—which you’d think would be the opposite of provocative. But you’d be wrong.
I’m feeling all fluttery in my belly and tense and wet between my legs and what the flickering flackering clickety clacketing hell man?! My breasts are swollen and my nipples are pointing right up at the ceiling. I suppose it doesn’t help that I can’t stop massaging them.
