Note to self: Find a method of physical fitness you’ll actually tolerate.
As predicted, the dance-offs and paint-tossing banished me to the couch for the evening.
Still.
“I had fun today.”
Antonio mirrors my smile and leans back into his pillow. “Me too.”
The glare from the TV he set up dances across his caramel complexion and the hard slab of his chest. His gaze is a silent expression I struggle to translate, which breaks when his phone rings.
“Excuse me,” he says, halfway off the sofa bed and on his way to my little kitchen that could with the phone to his ear. The ringtone is different than his usual factory-setting jingle. So is the care in his tone when he answers, “Hey.”
Hey, who?
“Not my business,” I say under my breath as I turn onto my side to scroll through movie and show options.
It’s not my place to care about Antonio’s sexual partners. Unless they support something harmful or have secret children.
I’m very much aware of his activities. There are years’ worth of stories, and I’ve seen the texts roll in firsthand like emergency alerts. If you’re sending rapid-fire messages like that, the ding-a-ling must be exceptional.
Antonio is a shower, and he has thumped me a time or two with his—
Stop thinking about his penis!
I flip to a baking competition, which, thankfully, has no phallic symbols that will keep my mind in the gutter.
“Peanut butter blossom cookies are a fine choice,” I say to the screen.
They look like nipples.
So much for baking.
I switch channels with unnecessary aggression and lean over the arm of my sofa bed when I hear faint laughter coming fromthe kitchen. He’s not visible from the doorway, but his hushed whispers echo in the distance.
What’s so funny?
The living room’s long shadows contour in streaks of light from the TV and the candles scattered around the room. Antonio asked who we were conjuring, like an appreciation for clean-burning soy and relaxing your nervous system through scent means séance. I lit five, not twenty.
The light above the stove keeps him from standing in total darkness while he talks to whoever.
A booty buddy?
A lover?
An enemy he likes to penetrate?
He’s never reacted so quickly to a woman before. That’s a lie. He’s chased plenty with his tongue wagging behind him. But hurdling over the blanket to answer a call? She’s special.
Why do you care?
I don’t. I’m merely acknowledging an observation.
The shuffle of Antonio’s socks over hardwood stirs me into action. My hand slips off the armrest, which is surprisingly high in this position. The struggle to lift the half of my body that’s hanging over the arm is another reminder of my lack of physical strength. I tip forward to catch myself from face-planting.
“What are you doing?” There’s a trace of laughter in Antonio’s voice when he sees my butt tooting in the air.
“Stretching.” I grunt as gravity and my underdeveloped muscles battle it out with my breasts as they try to punch me in the chin. I reach for my glasses, which are slipping off my nose, and buckle further over the edge. “It’s, um, a nighttime routine.”
