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"About his Prince Albert."
"Oh. Yeah. Sure."
"You promise you won't hold back on details?"
"About the sex? No. I promise. I'll tell you everything."
I barely manage breakfast or lunch.
I struggle to concentrate on studying for next week's Latin quiz.
My creative writing project remains a blank page.
My Kindle offers no solace. I read the same line twenty times before I give up on concentration and plant in front of the TV.
I can't even think about Grandma. I stare at a dozen ticket options. There are too many airports here and near Grandma's place. LAX or Long Beach or John Wayne. Newark or JFK or La Guardia. Nonstops. One stops. Two stops. Red eyes. Early morning flights. Ones that leave in the afternoon and get in late.
I give up on figuring it out now. Tune to Days of Our Lives. The soap grabs almost none of my attention.
But it's enough to take the edge off the nerves fluttering around my stomach.
Today.
It's happening today.
Soon.
With every commercial break, those nerves smack into each other a little harder.
I nearly jump when the door handle turns.
He steps inside all tall, tattooed, and handsome.
He's in his usual outfit. Black jeans. Black converse. And a v-neck, a powder blue one that matches my glasses.
Wicked I'm going to have my way with you smile on his beautiful face.
He kicks the door closed. Tosses his keys on the table. "Hey."
"Hey." My voice barely eeks out. "How was work?"
"Fucking awful."
"Oh."
"Couldn't stop thinking about you." He leaves his shoes by the door. "It took me forever to do a fucking heart tattoo."
"An anatomical heart?"
He shakes his head. "A tiny black outline." He holds his fingers in the shape of a heart. "You own my thoughts. You know that?"
"You do too."
He closes the distance between us.
I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet.
He presses his palm into my lower back, holding my body against his. "You think about anything besides fucking me today?"
