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That tingly, melty feeling is back in full force, and butterflies flap excitedly in my stomach, realizing that blowjob proposal two months ago wasn’t just some freak, one-off, accidental slip of the tongue he didn’t mean. You don’t ask someone the same question twice if you aren’t serious the first time. You pretend it never happened and you never speak of it again, which is exactly what I thought we were doing!
The excited butterflies in my stomach are lit on fire by my black soul, and my heart moves right on from skipping to racing a mile a minute when I start thinking about the ten thousand wedding binders Birdie has. And the hundreds of hideous, sparkly, poufy white dresses I’ve had to watch her try on, and all the episodes of Bridezillas she’s made me watch with her, and the engagement party SIG threw for her, and the engagement party her family threw for her, and the engagement party her friends threw for her, and we still have multiple bridal showers yet to come before we even get to the wedding.
And then all eyes are on you, judging your choice of food, judging your choice of cake, judging your choice of music, and stemware, and flowers. And 90% of them don’t even give a shit about you. They just came for the free food and alcohol, and to see if Uncle Greg will get so drunk again he tries to make out with one of his cousins. Followed by a lifetime of doing the same things with the same person, arguing about kids, arguing about money, arguing about work, arguing about what’s for dinner, until you’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch from each other every night, annoyed by the sound of their breathing, wondering if it would be less of a hassle to get a divorce or murder them in their sleep.
“Fuck off,” I finally growl before pushing myself up from the bed as Bodhi chuckles at me while I disappear into the bathroom, slam the door closed, and lift the lid of the toilet.
“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas!”
“God. Dammit,” I mutter, slamming the lid closed, and seriously consider peeing in the sink.CHAPTER 5Tess
“You snow the drill.”“I am totes loving the hoodie and the space buns in your hair,” Millie greets me with a smile on the other side of the check-in desk as the motion-activated Santa drops his drawers and starts shaking his ass. I sigh and look down at my black Nirvana hoodie I paired with black leggings and the thickest pair of fuzzy black socks I own. Still not warm enough.
I woke up feeling extra chilly this morning. It has everything to do with this old, drafty house and the snow still blowing around outside that my warm-climate body isn’t used to, and absolutely nothing to do with waking up surrounded by creepy hippo eyes… alone. I should feel fabulous that I got the best sleep I’ve had in the last two months, and after I closed my eyes last night, I didn’t open them or even move again until 10:00 a.m. As a bartender, I usually work late into the night and sleep until noon. Except for the last stupid few months, in which my sleep has been a shitshow on account of me dying and all.
I don’t know what is wrong with me that I feel so weird about Bodhi not being there when I woke up, and it’s annoying the hell out of me. It’s not like I’m all boohoo-ing we didn’t wake up wrapped in each other’s arms with our limbs intertwined like that crap in those books he makes me read to him before bed. I’m not a snuggler unless we’re on the couch watching something on TV. If we’re not having sex, then get the hell away from me and let me sleep comfortably without all your gross body heat and itchy leg hair. I just like waking up and… having him there. And let’s not kid ourselves here—half-asleep, warm-under-the-covers morning sex is the best sex. But did we have half-asleep, warm-under-the-covers morning sex this a.m.? No, we did not. Because I woke up alone, and for fuck’s sake why do I feel like crying?
Probably because I woke up this morning in an empty bed and all of a sudden I had this image of what my life would be like if Bodhi woke up and decided to peace out because he was tired of staying in one place with a woman who is a hell of a lot of trouble. God, I want to punch my own self in the face. I am not this needy.
Get it together, Tiny Tim! At least wait until after Christmas to continue with this emotional insanity.
“Hey, Tess, how did you sleep?”
