I would very much like to stop being perceived, now.
“Archie?” I squeak, trying not to crumple the goals in my fist.
Archie hums. “May I see that?” he asks, holding out his hand.
Numbly, I give him the papers. It isn’t until he’s fully upright again that I realize I’ve given himbothsheets of paper.
“Wait! Just the top one!”
He waves away my reaching hand, then skims the page I didn’t read aloud.
I scoot back on the couch and hide behind a throw pillow.
A low noise rumbles in the back of his throat. “You are such a curious mix of forward and skittish,” he remarks. “You’re the type of woman that would lean into my hand around your neck, greedily return my kisses, and write this enticing list, but then you’d hide at the mere possibility of discussing it.” He breathes in, then out. “You’re juxtaposition so exquisite I find myself almost unable to control my base urges.”
I peek out from behind my pillow shield. “Almost?” I ask, frowning.
Brown eyes lazy with desire land heavy on mine. “There,” he says. “Like that. You hide as you ask for more.” A shudder runs through him, subtle but sure. “Intoxicating.”
“You’re very good at communication,” I tell him. “I think we can probably mark it off of my list.”
“I’d like to mark…” His eyes flick down, then up. “Forty-one things off first.”
“A relationship should not be only physical,” I reply.
“No,” he agrees. “But a honeymoon could be.”
My. Good. Ness.
I take a drink of my now-tepid tea to cool me off. “Any comments on my other goals?” I brave asking, pretending like my hands aren’t shaking and my heart isn’t about to beat itself into an attack.
“Many,” he answers. “But none that are not obvious. I agree with everything you’ve said, and I agreetoeverything you’ve written. What temperature would you like the thermostat set to?”
Slowly recovering from his agreeancetothe things that I wrote but did not say, I whisper a weak, “Seventy-two.”
“I prefer sixty-eight farenheit,” he replies. “Compromise at seventy? I can wear fewer layers, and I will make sure you have sufficient options for staying warm.”
My brows furrow. “Fewer layers? Like not wearing your sweater vests?”
He confirms.
“No,” I object. “We can keep it at sixty-eight.”
“This is not compromising,” he points out.
“I am willing to compromise completely if you agree to never stop wearing your sweater vests. Ever. Particularly the red ones.”
One of his thick, perfect eyebrows rises. “You feel strongly about my sweater vests,” he observes.
“Yes.”
“Very well, my love. We shall keep the thermostat set to sixty-eight, and I will ensure that you do not catch a cold because of it.”
I hug my throw pillow. “Do you need a pen to mark that off?”
His eyes crinkle. “I’ll leave the marking to you when we’re done. I would never steal such pleasure from you.”
I have been getting that vibe, yeah.
