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935 Words
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?” he asks innocently.
“Like a friggin’ goat.”
“A goat?” He sounds insulted.
“You know, because they’re so stubborn.”
“No. No, that’s an absolutely terrible comparison. C’mon, seriously, a goat?”
“What would be better, a dog?”
“A dog?” he shouts. “You’re terrible at this! Dogs are like the most obedient animals on the planet!”
“Okay. I give up. What animal would you like me to compare you to?”
His voice turns reflective. “Well, cats are really stubborn, but they’re also mostly assholes, too, so we can’t go with a cat. I would say mule, but there’s absolutely nothing sexy about a mule—”
“God forbid he doesn’t get a sexy animal,” I mutter.
“—and birds are just dumb. A panther is super cool and probably totally stubborn, lone hunter and all that, but also technically a cat and therefore I’m sure it has all that cat assholiness.”
I start to giggle and can’t stop. This is alarming, not only because I’m not a person who giggles, but also because I’m enjoying this conversation way too much for my own good.
When Brody starts to talk again, I can hear in his voice that he’s trying to stifle his own laughter. “Okay, so we’ve gone through canines, felines, aves—”
“Aves?”
“That means birds—keep up, Slick—bovidae, and equidae—”
“Did you want to be a zoologist when you were growing up or something?”
“And we’ve gotten nowhere fast, so I’m thinking we should maybe move on to fictional animals.”
There’s an invitation in his pause. “Apes!” I declare.
“Can you be more specific?”
“King Kong. He was super stubborn.”
“Also big. I approve of this comparison! He probably had a huge—”
“Brain?” I say sweetly.
“Appetite, I was going to say. Imagine the amount of vegetation a one-hundred-foot-tall ape would consume in a day.”
“Imagine the size of his ape-y turds.”
Brody makes a disgusted sound. “No. I’d rather not, thank you. God, now that you mention it, that jungle probably stunk like a port-a-potty at Woodstock.”
That does it. My giggles turn into full-on, uncontrollable hoots of laughter. I even snort a time or two, I’m so out of control.
“And she’s snorting! Do you snore, too, you delicate flower?” Brody teases.
Still laughing, I say, “Probably. Although I couldn’t say for sure.”
“What, none of your boy toys ever told you?”
“None of them have ever spent the night.” It’s out of my mouth before I can censor myself. Instantly, my laughter dies.
Brody senses my sudden distress. He says gently, “Easy, Slick. I won’t ask.”
Relieved, I release a slow breath.
He adds, “Unless you feel the need to, you know, unburden yourself or something. I hear confessions can be quite cathartic.”
“No, thanks. And I think that’s bullshit, by the way.”
“What is?”
“That confessions are cathartic. I think it’s the coward’s way out.”
His silence burns. He says softly, “How do you mean?”
“I mean if you did something bad and the guilt is eating you up, find a way to handle it yourself, in a constructive way. Don’t go blathering your guilt all over the place for everyone else to deal with. I see it all the time in my practice. A couple comes in because out of the blue the husband couldn’t take the guilt of some one-night stand he had and confesses it to his wife to make himself feel better. Only now she’s devastated. They would’ve both been better off if he’d just kept his mouth shut and dedicated himself to being the best husband he could be in the future.”
After a while, he says cryptically, “Well. That answers that.”
I frown. “Please don’t tell me you have something terrible you need to confess.”
His pause is so brief I think I imagined it. “Well, I was going to confess that I’m sitting here with my d**k in my hand because your voice is so f*****g sexy it gets me hard, but geez, after that little speech I’ll just keep my mouth shut and deal with it myself.” He chuckles. “Constructively.” He chuckles again. “If you hear any odd moans or groans, just ignore them.”
The heat comes back into my cheeks. “Are you trying to have phone s*x with me, Mr. Scott?”
He groans. “God, it’s hot when you call me that in that stern librarian tone. It totally gets my sexy teacher fantasy going.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I’ll have to spank you with a ruler.”
He sucks in a low breath. “Oh, you’re an evil, evil woman.”
“And you, Mr. Scott, are a bad, bad boy.”
“f**k. I’m gonna ruin these new sheets,” he mutters.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I say evenly, trying to keep the tremor running through my body out of my voice.
“Wait!”
I hesitate. “What.”
“Say you’ll come to the party.”
I don’t respond.
He says, “Please.”
I still don’t respond.
- Writer
