“He sent you flowers when he dropped off Fidget,” she scolds me. “You had the poor man babysitting your dog.”
“We better be in a skybox again,” Gran says as I herd them out the door. “I brought tinfoil.”
“Fitz got you a whole hotel suite,” I assure them.
“Does it come with breakfast?”
“I assume so.”
“I better grab more Tupperware.”
When they finally leave, I collapse, ears ringing, on my couch.
It’s the first time in weeks I’ve been at home alone, all by myself.
I wander around my empty house.
I find a note from Fitz, typewritten.
Don’t go to sleep tonight, or else.
It makes me shiver, though in all the best ways.
Fidget rings the bell by her food bowl.
“I know you’ve been eating all day.”
Ring!
“Fidget.”
Ring ring ring!
“Gran said you smelled like hamburgers.”
The dog sighs over her bowl.
For tonight, at least, my house and my room are mine.
Someone—I wonder who!—has decoratedmy balcony with flowers.
I’m going to fuck you awake.
Yeah, because that’s going to inspire me to be productive tonight.
Am I a sex addict? I mean, I haven’t had sex that much.
Okay, in the past week maybe it was a lot, but if you average it out throughout the year, it’s not really that much. It’s, like, a less-than-normal amount.
I snuggle down under the covers.
I don’t mean to fall asleep, but it’s like for the first time in weeks, I’m finally able to relax, not worry if a family member or unwanted houseguest is just going to barge in and disrupt my peace.
The perfume of the flowers.
The drizzle outside.
The smell of the rain from the cracked French doors.
