Page 39 of Caught A Vibe

Idon’t know what I’d have done without Dash. Thanks to his idea, we get thirty units out the door and into the hands of excited influencers. It is small progress, but progress nonetheless.

Even that small effort wiped me out though. He carried up the boxes, unpacked everything, built and filled the shipping boxes, and carried them back down to the car to drop off at the post office. All I did was the digital legwork, and I am exhausted. Messaging people, printing labels, and writing a quick note to everyone shouldn’t have drained me this badly, but I am falling asleep at my computer by three in the afternoon.

Dash rises from the couch and stacks his stuff haphazardly on the floor. “Okay, I’m calling it. Break time,” he says.

“But there’s still so much to do,” I protest. I’m too far behind to stop.

“And none of it that can’t wait a few hours while you take a brain break.”

I cross my arms and refuse to stand. “Calling a nap a brain break doesn’t make it sound better.”

He looms over me, crossing his arms in a stubborn imitation of me. I am not amused. “Regardless of what you call it, it’s what you need right now.”

“I’m not two.”

“I’m aware.”

Not even the deep timbre of his voice as sexual tension sneaks into the innocent statement distracts me from my funk. “I don’t need a nap,” I insist, immediately hearing how petulant I sound.

Dash takes my hand and tugs me toward the couch. “Okay, how about a movie break?” he suggests.

“I can’t watch a movie in the middle of the workday!”

“Why not?”

The honest confusion in his tone sets me back. “Because it’s the middle of the workday.” Shouldn’t this be self-evident? Work. Day. If it’s day, I should be working.

“Let me ask you something. Stay with me for a second.” Dash frowns and looks at his hands. “What do you consider ‘the workday’? Nine to five?”

“Sure, close enough.”

“Okay. Do you work late into the evenings?” He holds up a finger.

“Sometimes.”

“And through lunches?” He raises another finger.

“On occasion.”

“How about weekends?” A third finger rises, and I’m starting to get annoyed.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that if you can choose to work during nonwork hours because it is more efficient, the converse should hold true as well.”

I let that sink into my tired brain, still struggling to let go of my high expectations for myself.

“Listen,” Dash tries again, “your brain and body are still recovering. We are in the middle of a pandemic that has turned the world on its head, and we still managed to get good work done today. You are allowed to rest.”

Why does that last statement have tears welling in my eyes? His argument is compelling, and I am tired. I blink rapidly, barely resisting.

“I’ll even throw in a foot rub…” Dash wiggles his eyebrows over that enticement.

Fine.He wins. I’ll rest, but I’ll do it on my own terms. “How can I resist? But I get to pick the movie.”

“Deal.”

He pulls my grandmother’s afghan up on the couch and props up a pillow, while I get comfy. The six-hour BBC version ofPride and Prejudiceis the perfect comfort watch in my opinion. But to my chagrin it isn’t streaming anywhere, so the two-hour 2005 version will have to suffice. Thinking of Darcy now makes me remember Dash stretching his hand after making me come so hard I forgot my own name. I hadn’t anticipated getting this turned on before he’s even touched me, but here we are.

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