Page 45 of Save the Drama for your Mama
I had a dream about Melody last night. Much to my dismay, it was set in the Regency era.
There was a vigorous rapping upon my bedchamber door. Before I could rise, Miss Melody Segal burst into my quarters, clad in a rather embellished nightdress of lace and ribbons that I dare say was not suitable for a young lady of class.
“Good sir, I must insist you come to my assistance post haste!” she cried in an excess of agitation that temporarily compelled my gaze to her heaving bosom. “The attic chambers is plagued by ghostly visitations this night! I beseech you, spare me from their nocturnal disturbances!”
“Ghosts, Miss Segal?” I exclaimed with some amusement. “You have had a fright, I see. Permit me to escort you to a chair where you may gather your nerves.”
“I fear I cannot oblige the request. I am all aflutter!” She wrung her hands in a theatrical fashion. “Dear sir, I beg you, extricate me from this ghastly predicament.”
“Fortune smiles upon you, dear lady, for unfettering damsels is my area of expertise,” I proclaimed with an air of perceptiveness.
I swooped her up into my arms and whisked her away to the withdrawing room to avoid further hysterics. Through no fault of the lady’s, our forms made fleeting contact in most unsuitable places as I settled her. Evidence of my passion rose forth.
Her shimmering lips reminded me of peaches soaked in honeyed wine. I cared not where her kisses fell, but whilst her tongue danced with such fervor across my cheek without warning, ’twas too bizarre for my sensibilities to withstand.
That was when I woke up.
Romeo was slurping my face like a popsicle.
The dog had the nerve of waking me up just when the dream was getting to the good part, and my only option was to take a cold shower. Icy cold.
By noon, it wasn’t a surprise that my morning writing productivity had been nonexistent. My thoughts traveled back to the dream, trying to change the ending to my liking, which meant imagining what it would be like to kiss Melody.
As we dined outside on the “Paddy O” at McP’s, the Irish pub and grill, I mentally throat-punched myself after I glanced at her mouth for the third time, while she took another bite of her hamburger.
What was wrong with me?
And what was wrong with Alfredo, aka Mr. Wannabe Cupid? He was sitting next to Miss Peachy Lips with obvious plans for trying to make me and Melody a couple. One more remark and I was going to call him on it.
Luckily, Melody excused herself to take a phone call.
I just hoped she wasn’t feeling uncomfortable.
Alfredo took a pull from his pint of Guinness, then redirected the subject back to us again with a gleam in his eye. “Sharing a house, just the two of you, huh? Sounds rather cozy.”
“It’s professional,” I said, shaking my head at his continued antics. “And would you quit trying to play matchmaker?” I glanced at the building, waiting for Melody’s return.
“Can’t fault me for trying,” Alfredo said. “You don’t think Melody’s attractive?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, because I’m not looking to be in a relationship with anyone. End of story.”
“You’re an author—you can change the end of the story whenever you please,” Alfredo said. “Every dark tunnel has a light of hope. So don’t hang yourself with a celibate rope.”
“Wait—that sounds familiar,” Melody said, pulling her chair out to rejoin us.“Where have I heard that before?”
“It’s from the song ‘Bust a Move’ by Young MC,” I said. “Quoting rap lyrics from the eighties and nineties is one of his quirks that we have to live with.” I chuckled and took a sip of my beer.
“I think it’s adorable,” Melody said, lifting her glass toward Alfredo.
“Thank you, my dear.” He clinked her glass, then took another swig of his beer. “So then, back to the house. There was no barging in on each other in the shower?”
Melody nearly choked on her burger at Alfredo’s question, but didn’t seem to mind answering. “Well, that’s not far from the truth.”
I grabbed my pint and contemplated chugging the entire thing. I couldn’t believe she was playing along. The only one who seemed to be uncomfortable with the conversation was me.
Melody laughed and bumped my arm with her elbow, which caused me to spill some beer on top of my fish and chips. She pointed to my plate. “You won’t even notice since the fish is beer-battered.”
I ignored her, stuffed a soggy fry in my mouth, and shifted in my seat, not wanting to mention that Melody had seen me in my boxers.
