From Marty Vee:
This is a romantic comedy novella I’m sharing in segments. I suggest that you start at Day 1. You can find it here:
Just in case you’re not going to do that, here’s a recap.
Billie is a junior reporter for a local network and Edgar, her least favorite person, works in the same position at a competing network. They are quarantined together at his house. She recently found out that most of her previously conceived notions about him are based on someone else’s lies.
I hope you enjoy it!
I have to orient myself as my mind comes awake. There are a couple of important things to remember that clarify reality.
Let’s begin; after dinner, I did work on my puzzle and Edgar did read out loud to me. When The Golden Girls were fully assembled, I cleaned up the kitchen and he continued reading, because the story was gripping. In the end, we finished the book but we stayed up too late.
I needed to fall asleep, but I wasn’t sure where I’d be sleeping. He had been generous to let me use his bed two nights in a row. I didn’t want to sleep on the sofa and even though he hadn’t complained I knew he didn’t want the hardwood floors again.
So, I said, “You know, there’s plenty of room in your bed for both of us.”
He tilted his chin away from me. “You’d be comfortable with that?”
Seriously, he could stop being so careful with me. It was appreciated but at this point unnecessary. “It’s no big deal, let’s just go to bed.”
I brushed my teeth and washed my face—I had combined some Castile soap and coconut oil, then just coconut oil for moisturizer a couple of days ago—in my bathroom. By the time I got into his bedroom, he was already laying down on the side closes to his bathroom door. I switched off the lights and went to the other side of the bed. I had to unclasp my bra and slip it out from under my tshirt before getting under the covers but I forced myself to not feel weird about that.
I hate sleeping in a bra.
It’s not like he could see anything anyway.
“Goodnight,” he said as he shifted to face the bathroom.
I had my back to him as well when I responded with my goodnight.
So that’s how we ended up sharing a bed.
What I don’t know is how I ended up sharing his pillow. Apparently, at some point in the night I crossed the invisible centerline and didn’t go back. I usually don’t move much while I sleep, so this is very weird for me.
I can say, that it smells like him over here and there is something delicious about that smell.
I lay completely still, my eyes still closed, Edgar is warm and firmly pressed against my back; from my shoulders to feet. He’s wearing shorts so the skin of his shin is against my calf. His left arm is under the pillow under my head and the right arm is hooked over my hips. His breath is humid on my neck. Every couple of exhales he makes a throaty groan that I have to be this close to hear.
I might be able to shift myself from his grip and get back to my side of the bed without him being aware of it but the contact feels so good.
He feels… so good.
My ego keeps telling my body to move but my body keeps telling my ego to shut the hell up.
With a content sigh, I lean tighter against him. My ass nuzzling against his groin.
Through his nose he breaths in sharply, his chin and lips brushing against my cotton-covered shoulder. The arm at my hip stiffens and pulls me more securely to him. A sound of pleasure vibrates into my shoulder.
He grows hard against my ass.
I don’t know how I do, but I continue breathing normally. I pretend to be asleep despite my arousal throbbing.
I know he’s conscious when I hear a quiet, “Fuck,” in my ear. Then an even quieter, “Fuuuuck,” before he puts distance between his erection and my ass. With slow careful movements he untangles himself from me.
In the end he pretty much has to fall on the floor of his bedroom to accomplish this. I have to imagine what it looks like because I’m still pretending to be asleep. The whole situation makes me want to laugh, but I hold it in until I hear the shower turn on behind the bathroom door. Even then, it’s more of a silent smile than laughter.
Is he masturbating? That question has me sobering up. The imagery is not unpleasant.
Before he’s out of the shower, I go to my own bathroom to bathe.
He’s eating some oatmeal and blueberries in the living room when I emerge clean.
I’m French braiding my wet hair over my right shoulder. Maybe, it’ll dry and be beach babe wavy tomorrow for my work video. I’d really need to do two braids for that, but I only have one scrunchy. Maybe I can find a rubber band.
“Morning,” I say as I pass Edgar on my way to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” his voice is croaky. His phone buzzes and he bends to grab it off of the coffee table.
“How’d you sleep?”
He’s quiet for a moment and I watch him from the fridge typing out a text. He answers, “Fine. You?”
“Fine.” I’ve already planned out the verbiage of my next couple of questions. “So, I totally woke up on your side of the bed. Did I crowd you all night?”
“Was I there when you woke up?”
He swallows a bite of food. “I wasn’t paying attention.” He says it very convincingly. I know he has to be good at masking his thoughts for work, but seriously, if I didn’t know better I would believe him.
“Okay, as long as I didn’t bother you.”
There’s another buzz from his phone, he’s looking down at its screen. “Not a bother.”
I keep having to stop myself from touching him; nowhere scandalous, just his arm or his shoulder. One time I almost touched his knee, he’s still wearing shorts so it’d be even more awkward than if he had been wearing pants. But I caught myself and made it look like I was brushing something off of the sofa. Real smooth.
It’s like there’s a gravitational pull from his skin to mine.
There’s some crazy reality show that a couple of my friends were talking about on their profiles so I turned that on. It’s about to start playing the third episode but I have too much anxious or excited energy. It’s ping-ponging against my insides and I can’t hold still anymore.
“I need to do something.” I roll onto my back to look up at Edgar.
I was stretching on the floor while watching TV. He’s sitting on the sofa with his feet propped on the coffee table.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.” I come to a seated position and pause the show. “I need to do something, like, physical.”
He points towards the spare room. “There’s all that equipment—”
“No, I don’t want to work out. I want to, like, play—like, wrestle.” I’m saying ‘like’ a lot I do that when I feel nervous.
His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to wrestle me?”
I laugh and don’t look at his biceps. “No.” Yes. “That’s just like the kinda energy I have right now. I need to do something. Something fun.”
“Okay… except for wrestling any other ideas.” He watches me while I think.
His chest rises with a slow deep breath and then his cheeks puff out on the exhale. “I’m gonna need to be drunk for this.”
“Oh shit, are we drinking?”
A couple of shots and halfway through a mixed drink, he pushes the coffee table against the wall and then the sofa back a few feet. It looks like he’s done this before. We connected his phone to his sound system and Daft Punk is playing.
“Alright, we’re gonna have to do some icebreaker moves,” he says swinging his arms.
“Why are you so nervous?”
“This is not my normal setting.”
“You’ve never danced in your living room?”
“Alone or, you know, spontaneously, yeah.”
“Oh please, it’s just me.”
He snorts. “Yeah, just you.”
I roll my eyes. I get it, I can be judgmental and I have kinda been my most judgey towards him. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” This was already a weird situation and it’s getting weirder.
“Do the most ridiculous move you can think of.”
Without hesitation I body roll from my feet up. It’s a move that Libby and I developed a few years back and we find it hysterical. The roll is heavy in the knees and the arms remain limp at the sides of my body. It’s like a wacky inflatable arm man when the arms are broken.
He watches me, an open mouth smile spreading.
“Didn’t know I could move like this, did ya?”
“It’s called The Mermaid and it’s an original.” I jerk my chin at him. “Well, come on. Don’t make me dance alone.”
With a chuckle, he nods in agreement before breaking into a very good Running Man.
The night is fun and he makes me laugh a lot. Our dancing is goofy and playful with zero grinding. The only touching we did was when he grabbed my hand and did a dramatic spin and then dip.
We drank a couple more beverages but switch to water before bed.
I do not need to be drunk while I lay next to him, with the memory of his playful grin and laughter so fresh.
I’m dead tired as I lay down and pull the covers up, but I don’t fall asleep right away. His breathing is even. It’s the only sound outside of mine. Our world is so isolated. It’s easy to imagine that it’s only him and me. The thought is kinda comforting.
Without anyone else to have an opinion, I don’t have to explain how my feelings for him are changing. They’re getting so confused. I don’t hate him anymore.
I really don’t hate him.
From Marty Vee:
Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying the story, please share it with a friend.
You can continue on to Day 8 at:
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