Surrender

Saturday, August 20, 2013

4:45pm

I've learned an invaluable lesson about lust today. It causes double the work. I took two showers today, instead of just one. I changed clothes four times instead of the usual two. I've cleaned the house once (that's one more than I usually clean it) and I've checked the time on the clock no less than a thousand times. I may have checked my phone for incoming texts just as many. Unfortunately, he didn't state in his text from last night what time he would be here, so by five o'clock I'm pretty much sitting and waiting. There isn't much else to do, since I've already baked enough sweets for an entire year and I've ran no less than four miles today. I thought about cooking dinner for us, but I have no idea what time he's coming over, so I wouldn't know when to have it ready. I'm sitting on the couch, drumming my nails on the sofa, when I get a text from him.

What time can I come over? Not that I'm looking forward to it or anything. You're really, really boring.

He texted me. Why didn't I think of that? I should have texted him a few hours ago to ask what time he would be here. It would have saved me so much unnecessary, pathetic fretting.

Be here at seven. And bring me something to eat. I'm not cooking for you.

I set the phone down and stare at it. An hour and forty five minutes to go. Now what? I look around at my empty living room and, for the first time ever, the boredom starts to have a negative affect on me. Up until this week, I was pretty content with my lackluster life. I wonder if being exposed to the temptations of technology has left me wanting more, or if it's being exposed to the temptations of Harry. Probably both. I stretch my legs out on the coffee table in front of me. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt today after finally deciding to give my sweatpants a break. I also have my hair down, but only because Harry has never seen me in anything other than a ponytail. Not that I'm trying to impress him...
I'm totally trying to impress him.
I pick up a magazine and flip through it, but my leg is shaking and I'm fidgeting to the point that I can't focus. I read the same page three times in a row, so I throw the magazine back on the coffee table and lean my head back into the couch. I stare at the ceiling. Then I stare at the wall. Then I stare at my toes and wonder if I should repaint them.
I'm going crazy.
I finally groan and reach for my phone, then text him again.

Now. Come right now. I'm bored out of my freaking mind and if you don't come right now I'll finish the book before you get here.

I hold the phone in my hands and watch the screen as it bounces up and down against my knee. He texts back right away.

Lol. I'm getting you food, bossy pants. Be there in twenty.

Lol? What the hell does that mean? Lots of love? Oh, God, that better not be it. He'll be out the door faster than Matty-boy. But really, what the hell does it mean? I stop thinking about it and focus on the last word. Twenty. Twenty minutes. Oh, shit, that suddenly seems way too soon. I run to the bathroom and check my hair, my clothes, my breath. I make a quick run through the house, cleaning it for the second time today. When the doorbell finally rings, I actually know what to do this time. Open it. He's standing with two armfuls of groceries, looking very domesticated. I eye the groceries suspiciously. He holds the sacks up and shrugs.

"One of us has to be the hospitable one." He eases past me and walks straight to the kitchen and sets the sacks on the counter. "I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs, because that's what you're getting." He begins removing items from the sacks and pulling cookware out of cabinets. I shut the front door and walk to the bar.

"You're cooking dinner for me?"

"Actually, I'm cooking for me, but you're welcome to eat some if you want." He glances at me over his shoulder and smiles.