“I will clean it for you myself if you break up the awkwardness between Layla and me."
“Promise?" I ask, knowing I would never let him go through my old crap. Not yet, anyway.
“Promise." I stand up from Wesley's lap and offer him a hand to pull him up. He takes it but uses his own weight to stand, which is good since I'd end up back on top of him. He wraps his arm around my neck and kisses my cheek. “You know, I thought about you all night instead of sleeping. Is that creepy?"
“Nah, you were riding on a unicorn in my dream last night, so I win the creep-award."
He gives me a look like I'm nuts, but it's fine. It's nothing I don't already know. “You dream about unicorns?"
“Cupcakes, rainbows, and puppies, too."
“I misjudged you I guess," he says.
“Yes, you did."
“Could you two find another time to bone, please? I'm working here," Layla says.
I take a seat on the couch and pull my laptop off the coffee table. “We weren't boning, sorry to destroy whatever image you had in your head."
“Damn, it was a good one—something about you boning on a unicorn."
“Nice," Wesley says. “Unicorns and sex. Just nice."
“Sit down," Layla tells Wesley, point to the seat next to her.
We joke about sex and unicorns all the time, so Wesley is probably wondering how she knew what we were just discussing.
“You guys are weird," he says, taking a seat. “And what the hell is that on your screen?"
“That is you," Layla says. “Photoshop … it's like magic."
“I said no modeling."
“You're not modeling. This is an advertisement for—"
“The goddamn Milkman?" Wesley snaps.
“Look, you know milk. You're known for milk. You're hot, a model, people kind of sorta know you."
“Thanks," he huffs.
“Milkmen still exist. It's a thing. People like fresh milk. They like the old-time feel of having a milkman deliver fresh milk to their door once a week. However, today's average woman also yearns to live out a fantasy of having a hot delivery guy come to her door or a milkman in this case. You won't have to do anything except deliver milk. That's it. However, I have already had twenty requests since yesterday for the hot milkman that spouses won't suspect to be a threat to their lonely housewife. It's just milk in glass bottles."
Wesley looks over at me with a look of shock, and I'm trying my hardest not to laugh because it's a pretty genius idea. “No way. I’m not doing that. I’m not a piece of meat," he tells Layla.
Again this week, I can't stop laughing. “No, you're the cow that delivers the milk, not the meat. It can be confusing. Don't worry," I tell him.
“Not funny," he says. He's serious, so I try to stop laughing. I take a pillow and hold it in front of me to conceal the giggles. “Where did you come up with this idea?"
“It popped into my head when Mads mentioned you as a milkman a few days ago."
“Well, thanks for that," he grumbles.
“Welcome," I snort.
“Each delivery will pay you forty-dollars."
“Forty dollars to deliver milk that costs less than ten dollars?"
