Page 43 of Things I Overshared

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Sadie: I’m with Skye, paint us a picture

Sally: OMG if you’re going to write a novella, please type it all out in one text and not 10,000 short texts.

Skye: What Sally said.

There is no context, that’s it.

“C’mon, Mr. Clark, I won’t tell Miranda.”

Then THAT face.

Skye: Maybe he has a thing about physical touch

You know what, maybe.

He caught me falling at the airport

And looked disgusted then too.

Skye: I’m sorry, he what now?

Sadie: What kind of fall! Details!

It was nothing

I fell backward, and he caught me before I went all the way down Skye style.

Skye: [Middle finger emoji]

Sally: lol

Sadie: Well, that was chivalrous of him.

I guess, but the facial expression ruined it.

Susan: Maybe no more touching Emerson.

No problem, boss lady.

_________

I am excited for our plans today, and still not adjusted to the time, so it’s before six when I make my way to the coffee pot.

And there in the kitchen is Emerson.

Without a shirt on.

Sweaty and panting.

I am now panting too.

I am also staring.

I tell myself to look away. I beg my eyes to stop, but they can’t. I knew he was built, but I mean . . .Shit balls motherffff—

I was right. A six-pack, defined pecs, huge arms—I was not expecting such huge arms!—and that V thing leading into his gym shorts, the distinct muscle that you only see in underwear commercials.

“Pardon?” he asks.

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