Flat, washboard abs—such a cliché.
Tight, firm thighs—have I mentioned those?
Toes wiggling.
He stretches.
Yawns.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” I warn in my sternest, teacherist voice.
“Relax, Josephine. I’m not going to. I’m too invested.”
“Invested? It’s episode one.”
“So? Who says you can’t fall in love within the first ten minutes?”
Who says you can’t fall in love within the first ten minutes?
Most people, that’s who say that.
People who are living in reality, not a parallel universe where they’re making millions of dollars for four months’ worth of work.
Five weeks?
Three?
See!? I have no idea how long a season even lasts! Or how long they practice, or what happens after the season is over.
Duke watchesDouche Boy Islandwhile I only pretend to watch it, his low chuckles causing me to smile. He laughs at thedumbestshit, which I find quite endearing.
He laughs.
I laugh.
He also snorts a few times, says excuse me as if he’d burped or sneezed, all the while his eyes are fixated on the TV in front of us.
Duke isn’t one to hold still while he’s watching, fiddling with the bedding, shifting this way and that. A man who has been cooped up for days with nothing but time on his hands—the boredom and cabin fever must be getting to him.
His hand roams the bed, plucking at my duvet cover, fingers poking through the dainty eyelet holes. I had a magazine on the bed I haven’t touched in days, and a paperback copy of a novel I want to read but haven’t cracked the spine on yet.
Duke’s arm moves so he can scratch the scruff on his face.
It flops back down, hand flat against the bedding.
Moves a fraction to the left.
Right.
He seems to be feeling for something.
Suddenly, I remember…
Oh God.
Oh no…
Frantically, my eyes dart around the coverlet, trying to locate the pink vibrator I’d been playing with earlier and did not put away. Why the hell did I toss it onto the bed instead of putting it in the drawer where it belongs?