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ChapterThirty-Two
“CanI get you guys anything else?” Art asks Mom and Dad as I process this shocking realization.
“No, thank you,” Mom says.
“You’ve been a gracious host,” Dad says. The look he throws at me seems to say, “Unlike some people.”
Art smiles warmly. “Thank you. Good night.”
My smile is way less gracious. “Don’t let the yoga mat bugs bite.”
Art and I head for the master bedroom, and with each step, my heartbeat accelerates.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Art whispers as soon as the bedroom door closes.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I whisper back. “The last thing we want during the reception is for you to throw your back out.”
He waves dismissively. “My back is very strong.”
Right. It has to be, to juggle all those ballerinas.
“You won’t get good sleep on the floor,” I say. “We don’t want you to have bags under your eyes in all the pictures. Let’s just share the bed.”
To punctuate my point, I head over to the bathroom. Art doesn’t follow, which I take as consent.
As I shower, some of my bravado evaporates, replaced with trepidation.
Why did I insist on sleeping together?
What if I roll over in my sleep and accidentally impale myself on Mr. Big? Or what if Mr. Big ends up in my mouth? There’s sleep walking, so why not sleep sucking?
Overlaying those concerns is a replay of that kiss, which has been spinning in my mind since it happened.
It seemed so real. Like he really meant to kiss me. And I definitely felt on the verge of giving in to the impossible temptation that is Art.
As the images flit through my mind, I have to stop myself from exercising every masturbation technique I’ve ever blogged about. I don’t want to fall and get caught. One more embarrassment today, and I just might implode, like an incandescent lightbulb trying to molest a hammer.
Somehow, I finish my evening routine and exit the bathroom with my sanity still intact—which is when Art goes in. Now I have to fight the temptation of the nearby sex toys.
I can’t.
I shouldn’t.
But—
The bathroom door opens.
PJ-clad Art steps out, locks the bedroom door, and slips under the covers with me, turning off the light on the way.
Wow. That was an even quicker shower. That means he didn’t masturbate. Does that mean he didn’t want to? Or was he also afraid to slip and fall?
All I know is that if I had given in to the sex toy temptation, I would’ve been caught… and a part of me wonders if that would’ve been such a bad thing.
Maybe if he’d gotten turned on and—
“You awake?” Art murmurs softly.
“Nope,” I whisper. “I always talk in my sleep.”
