Narcolepsy (A Love Story)

24: Abby

My sweet, thoughtful man. To think I ever referred to him as the "Asshole Adonis." Or jerkface. Or any one of the many names I used in my brain and conversations with Rick. I was so wrong.

The bag was full of travel size products, the same ones I had in my bathroom down to the same scents, along with a Wonder Woman pez dispenser. I immediately opened the package and loaded it, then offered him a piece from her severed throat.

"This is a peace offering. I know you don't know all of the things I used to call you in my brain or behind your back to my cousin and her husband, but I want to apologize. You are nothing like what I thought, and I was a judgmental bitch."

"No you weren't. But I apologize for continually referring to you as 'that judgmental bitch.'" He smiled at me, and I smiled back. We were cool. "I'm kinda curious what you called me though, especially to Rick." Okay, maybe not.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I realize how misguided I was, and it won't happen again. You are going to be my husband and I will never say a bad word about you to anyone but you."

He chuckled, getting ready to take the airport exit. "Thanks, hon. I appreciate that. You're right, it doesn't matter anymore, so I think you should just go ahead and tell me all the pet names I can expect to hear in our future arguments."

I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling a little warm. "Seriously, Blake, there's nothing really worth mentioning here, it was just me venting frustration."

"Uh huh," he said, pulling up at the gate for the long-term parking structure attached to the airport. I was glad to see it, the distant lots were cheaper and the shuttle service was reliable and perfectly adequate, but I always had so much pent-up anxiety surrounding traveling by airplane — the stress of checking baggage if needed, trying to get through security and worrying about whether I had followed every one of the TSA's convoluted rules, then finding my gate, all while worrying about missing the flight or the flight being delayed and it causing problems down the line. Dealing with a remote parking lot, a shuttle, and traffic between there and the airport, was stress I could choose not to have, so I did. And apparently so did Blake.

He parked, telling me to wait for him as usual, and then he came around to my side and opened the door but wouldn't let me get out. He held me in my seat, his hands on my hips, and gave me a short, sweet kiss. I tried again to get out of the car but he didn't budge. "Tell me, woman, I want to know what you called me."

I heaved a giant sigh, then looked up at him through my lashes innocently. "Not worth mentioning, my love." Nothing but a stern look. Another sigh. "Fine. Mostly I referred to you as Pretty Boy."

He closed his eyes and shook his head with a pained smile. "And?"

"Umm, jerkface." That got a little laugh, then a gesture for me to go on. "His Highness." He snorted. "I think I called you Sir Blake, Lord of Doucheington a few times."

He nodded, saying "That's actually a really good one, I'm going to have to borrow that. Not Sir Blake, of course. Now come on, I know there's gotta be at least one more. Spit it out."

I muttered "Asshole Adonis" then concentrated on the captivating view of the cement pillars outside the windshield.

He started laughing, hard, and then leaned in and kissed my forehead. "I love how your brain works, baby girl."

"Why do you call me baby girl sometimes but not all the time? And why that name at all?" I asked.

He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "You know how you like my hands because they make you feel tiny and delicate? And I'm pretty sure they're a dick-substitute and you're thinking about me finger-fucking you with my (quote) long, thick fingers because you get this particular hungry look and you fixate on them a lot. Well, I like your hands too. They make me feel huge and powerful, and I always picture them wrapped around my dick and how huge it will look in your freakishly small hands, and it just makes me feel so dirty and wrong like we're doing DD/lg play, and so whenever there's some element of sex or I'm perving on you for some reason, you're 'baby girl' and since I call you that all the time, that should tell you something."