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“Says the guy who enjoys tying me up.”
“That’sfun,not freaky,” I defend.
“And this is intriguing. Maybe if you listened, you’d learn a thing or two—oh wait, your brain is already liquefied.” She flicks my forehead.
“Hey, that hurt.” I rub the spot.
“Aw, poor baby.” She mock pouts. “Should I kiss it and make it better?”
She leans over and kisses the spot before I can retort.
As she settles back down, I say, “I’d rather you kiss my cock.”
“I thought you liked when I sucked it?”
I choke yet again, this time on an actual bite of food.
So, this is how I die—choking on a piece of lasagna because my girlfriend has shocked me. I’ll be mocked forever in hell.
“Could you stop choking over there?” she retorts playfully. “I’m trying to watch my show.”
I finally manage to swallow the food and take a sip of beer. “You are insufferable, woman.”
She grins back at me like the cat that ate the damn canary.
I’m the canary.
“’Bout time you got a taste of your own medicine.”
By the time we finish eating and I wash the dishes—she cooked, the least I can do is wash the damn dishes—her torture of a show finally ends.
She calls me a pussy no less than twenty times.
She has a point. I officially have one of the weakest stomachs ever, since I can’t stop gagging any time one of the …things—okay,mummies—appears on the screen.
“You know,” I begin, “I think it’s kind of wrong the way they take them from their burial place. Isn’t it sacred or some shit?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “But it’s history.”
“Couldn’t you study it, document everything, and learn what you needed to?” I reason. “Why remove everything? I don’t get it.”
“I guess as humans we can’t help but be curious about what came before us. How they lived, how they died, and part of that discovery is sharing as much as you can with others.”
She turns her body toward me, one leg curled under the other. She rests her elbow on the back of the couch, her wine glass dangling loosely from the tips of her fingers.
Her red hair glows with a golden hue from the light in the apartment and her eyes are warm, welcoming,loving.
I haven’t told her yet, but I told my mom about her. I talk to my mom as often as I can, which admittedly isn’t enough. But the last time we spoke I had to tell her about Mia. I couldn’tnot. She actually cried on the phone, and admitted she thought I might never settle down, seeing as I’m twenty-five. I’m still young, I told her, but the excuse seemed feeble. She begged me to bring Mia to meet her, but I know it’ll be a long while before I can visit my mom—and what if, by then, Mia’s decided she’s sick of me?
It’s laughable, how I went from woman to woman every day and night, and now I’m worrying abouthergrowing tired ofme.
The tables have turned. It makes me regret every nasty thing I’ve ever said to a girl to get her out of my bed. Okay, maybe noteveryword—some of those girls were certifiable.
I take a drink of beer as we sit there, looking at one another. It’s a strange thing, this sitting in silence and not needing to fill it. With Mia there is no need for idle chatter, being with her is enough.
She finishes her wine and leans over to set the glass on the coffee table. She stretches out on the couch, laying her head in my lap with her hands clasped beneath her chin. She yawns, her tiredness an almost physical presence in the room. Even with her living close to work and school, she’s running herself ragged. I think it’s commendable that Arden and Hayes want their kids to work and not have everything handed to them, but the selfish part of me wants to beg Hayes to take care of her because I hate seeing her tired all the time. But I know Mia would swat me to within an inch of my life if I dared say a thing. Not only would it give us away, but I know she values working hard and wants to work for everything she has.
I brush my fingers through her hair and her eyes drift closed.
