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“Say hi to Slash for me,” Jazz said.
“Will do.”
When I got home, Slash was stretched out on the couch, a book propped up in his lap and a pair of reading glasses on his nose.
“You wear glasses?” I asked in surprise.
“Just for reading.” He took them off and set them aside. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, I had fun.” I kicked off my heels. “But I’m glad to be home.”
He patted the spot on the couch next to him, and I stretched out, resting my head on his chest. “What are you reading?”
Slash flipped the book to show me the cover.
One Second After.
“It’s about a nuclear war between superpowers and an electromagnetic pulse that destroys the fabric of America, and how people have to fight for their lives to survive the end of the world as we know it.”
“So it’s a comedy,” I quipped.
Suddenly, all my concerns about whether he was completely domesticated or not melted away. “You look sexy in glasses.”
“Yeah? Glad you like them.”
I placed my hand on his chest. “Slash?”
“Hmm?”
“Why don’t you act like you live here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You never leave dishes in the sink, or your clothes in piles, or your shoes by the door…”
He began to laugh.
“What?” I leaned up just enough to be able to stare at him. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you might be the only woman in history who’s complaining that her man cleans up after himself.”
I smiled. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, of course that’s what I’m doing.”
“Okay.”
“Look, I’ve been taking care of myself for years. Cleaning up after myself is just part of life. I’m not twenty. It’s ingrained in me by now, you know?”
“Well, can’t you find a way to be a bit of a slob?” I grumbled. “So I don’t feel so guilty about leaving dishes in the sink.”
“Whatever you want, woman,” he said with a laugh. “Whatever you want.”
* * *
The next morning, I leaned over and brushed my lips across Slash’s scarred forehead. He stirred ever so slightly. “You leaving?” he muttered, face smushed into a pillow.
“Yeah.”
