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Lucas:You must be exhausted, though. I should let you go to sleep.
The thrumming in my rib cage rose to my temples as I came up with an excuse to keep him with me.
Rosie:Don’t worry. My brain is still on so I can’t sleep.
Rosie:You could… keep me company? Maybe?
Rosie:Until I fall asleep.
Lucas:Oh yeah? You’d like that?
Rosie:Yep.
Lucas:Well, you’re lucky I’m an excellent entertainer and great company.
Lucas:Most of the time.
Rosie:I know.
Rosie:All of the time. Even when you’re a grouch.
A picture appeared on my screen. It was a selfie, and he was frowning. Pouting.
Lucas:a grouch like this?
Lucas:I still think I look handsome. Sexy, even.
He did. He always did.
Another message came in.
Lucas:would you entertain me, too?
Lucas:send me a pic.
Lucas:for the sake of my separation anxiety.
Lucas:I’m scared I’ll forget your face.
Rosie:are you… flirting with me, Lucas Martín?
Lucas:is it working?
With a nervous snicker, I snapped a selfie and sent it.
Lucas:is that… the floor? Why are you laying at the foot of the bed?
Oops. My Lucas-hazed brain hadn’t thought of that.
Another photo of him popped up on my screen. It was taken from a longer distance, as if he’d stretched his arm to snap the shot so I could see that he was lying in bed. On top of the covers. Shirtless. His glorious, glorious chest on display, his tattoo peeking out of a corner of the screen.
Lucas:This is how beds are meant to be used, Ro. You lay on top of them.
Rosie:thank you for the lesson, professor.
Lucas:What can I say? I’m well versed in the many uses of beds.
Rosie:Oh?
