Sleep Lines are not Sexy

Last night was a disaster. Fife texted me when he left his house, but by that point I was fast asleep on top of a pile of throw pillows in front of the telly.

The plan had been: Fife texts when he leaves, and I’d get ready. I put the M&S food in the oven, when he arrives I answer the door wearing nothing by my lacy knickers and holding two glasses of wine. The house would be lit with candles and all would be sexy.

What actually happened: I missed Fife’s text because I was snoozing, so when he arrives I’m still on the floor sleeping. He’s pounding on the door because I was fast asleep and heard nothing. I finally wake up, shuffled to the door, and open it wearing my tattered robe, my hair is a mess, and I have smudged make-up everywhere and pillow lines across my face. Yeah, sexy.

I,m terribly grumpy because he woke me up, and I’m not fully cognitive. I have a go at him for it being so late, and stumble into the kitchen to put the food in the oven because I’m starving. He asks what I’m doing, and I say, ‘Making dinner.’

To which he replies, ‘I already ate.’

Here’s a hint you male bloggy-readers out there. If your girlfriend has gone to a lot of effort, and wants to make you dinner, don’t tell her you’ve already eaten. Just suck it up, and have two dinners.

When he said he’d already eaten, I thought I was going to cry. In fact, I actually may have cried a little. I definitely got into a strop. I went on about how I wanted that night to be perfect, and I’d done all this stuff to get ready, but he ruins it by turning up so late that he may as well have cancelled.

He was a bit annoyed at me now, so he argued back that it wasn’t his fault; Helen took a later flight from London, and it’s not like he can leave the boys home alone. The awake part of my brain understood his situation and was sympathetic, but the sleepy part of my brain was peeved that his children weren’t old enough to look after themselves. Luckily I was too hungry and tired to fight, so I put the M&S back in the fridge, made myself a bowl of cereal and flopped back down on the floor of the lounge as I shovelled Special K Berry into my gullet.

He came and sat next to me, and said he was sorry he was so late, but it couldn’t be helped. ‘This is what it’s going to be like dating someone with children.’

Stupid children. Luckily, I didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, I said that I understand (which I do), but we’ll have to work something out. He agreed.

My dressing gown had started to flop open, and he could see the lacy bra underneath. He asked if that was for him, and with a mouth full of bran and milk nearly dripping down my chin I mumbled ‘yes’.

Ignoring the fact that I was eating, he slid open my robe until it was hanging off both shoulders. He started kissing my neck, and I put the blow of cereal to one side. He untied the belt of the robe and I slid my hand up his shirt.

I woke up this morning curled-up next to him on the lounge floor. He was completely bare, and I was half covered by my dressing gown. His arm was across me, and I had my head in the bend of his chest. I thought, ‘This is how it’s supposed to be.’ Having sex until we’re so exhausted we can’t make it to bed, and waking up in his arms. I’ve forgiven him for arriving late. After all, it wasn’t his fault.

We’re both at the same festival this weekend. He’s doing a panel on Saturday late afternoon, and I’ve got an author doing a reading Saturday afternoon, and Conspiracy is on Sunday morning. The festival has paid for Fife to have a room on the Saturday night, and the Agency is paying for my room on Friday and Saturday night. But we’re just going to stay in each other’s room. I was going to cancel my Saturday night room so that the agency doesn’t have to pay for an extra day, but by the time I called it was too late, as you need to give them 24 hours’ notice. So, oh well, we’ll have two rooms one night. Which is probably for the best, because the publishing world is so insular I’m not sure if I want everyone knowing just yet that Fife and I are dating.

Anyway, waking up this morning with him was wonderful. As I got ready for work, he went to the store and got some eggs and bacon for breakfast. Being domestic with him feels really right. After eating together, I left him alone in the flat and went to work. He said he’s got a few things to do in Dundee today, then he’s home to get clothes for the weekend, but he’ll meet me back at the flat after work. We’ll head over to the festival then. We won’t get to the hotel until late, but if last night was anything to go by Fife isn’t put off by late hours.

I’m at home for lunch just now, as I’d kind of hoped that he’d still be here, but he’s gone. I know this is a bit silly, but the first thing I did when I got home was smell the throw pillow he slept on last night. He has such a lovely sent, it’s kind of musky and soapy. Very clean but masculine. I can’t wait to wake up lying next to him tomorrow morning.

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