If he does any better, I might explode. I think I just spontaneously ovulated.
“We need to set a schedule,” I say sternly, attempting to sound like a rational human being and not a woman whose c******s has its own heartbeat. “I can’t have you showing up like this, interrupting me whenever you feel like it.”
He nods solemnly, but I suspect he’s trying not to break out into laughter. “That’s reasonable. How about after dinner every night? Say, eight o’clock? I’ll drop by the house.”
That seems late, and contradicts what he said earlier about eating the morning frog or whatever it was, but I’m in no condition to negotiate, so I mutter, “Okay. Good. See you then. Bye.”
I spin on my heel, but he calls after me, “Why was your ex here?”
I slowly turn back to him. The laughter has died in his
