Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 119548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
This was good news.
The housekeepers had my thanks.
I yanked off his pillowcase and replaced it with mine, then gently but quickly set his pillow back in the right spot before making a break for it. I locked the adjoining door between our rooms and leant back against it, holding onto his pillowcase for dear life.
Phew.
This had to be up there as the weirdest thing I’d ever done.
And I’d done some weird shit, let me tell you.
But still… For all my desire to put distance between us, the bed was weird. It didn’t smell like Fred or me, and it wasn’t that nice fresh laundry smell, either.
Not that the sheets weren’t clean. They were. They were just… cold. In a way I could barely begin to describe. They just felt wrong. They were too crisp, too clean, too foreign to me.
Which was why I’d just pulled the most stalker-like move of my life and absconded with my best friend’s pillowcase.
On the bright side, he would probably just shake his head, pat his pillow, and go about his business.
He really did tolerate an awful lot of weird shit from me.
Using my pillowcase wasn’t half as strange as marrying me on a whim, though, so hey. If he could marry me, he could suck up the fact I’d stolen his pillowcase.
And, really, this was all his fault. He was the one who, when I was seven, had given me his most favourite stuffed bear to calm me down when I’d sprained my elbow. After that, he had a habit of giving me things that smelt like him when I was upset, and, well, I was upset.
Yes.
I was upset right now.
I was upset that he’d turned me on this morning, and I needed comforting, so here I was. Comforting myself.
All right, it would have been a hell of a lot less weird if I’d stolen his t-shirt or jumper or something, but I was against the clock here.
I put my stolen pillowcase on my pillow and lay down on my bed. Relief washed over me as if it were physically pulling the tension from my body, and I briefly closed my eyes.
Yes.
This was better.
With a sigh, I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes and felt for my phone. I grabbed it and opened my text chain with my sister.
ME: Lucy, I have an issue.
Her response was almost immediate, as all good big sister’s responses should be.
LUCY: What’s wrong? Who do I need to make Harvey punch?
ME: Why are you offering your husband as my henchman?
LUCY: I’m six and a half months pregnant, Delilah. I can’t just go around beating people up.
That was a very fair point.
ME: Point made.
ME: And me. Make him punch me.
LUCY: Shit what did you do
LUCY: Delilah Elizabeth tell me right now
LUCY: Or I’m gonna tell Mum
Jesus bloody Christ, could she give me a minute to type? I thought you got slower as you got further into pregnancy. Why were her fingers seemingly moving at the speed of light?
Also, threatening to tattle on me to our mother was the lowest of the low.
ME: I stole Fred’s pillowcase.
LUCY: *confused face emoji*
LUCY: Any particular reason? Are you nesting like in those omega books?
ME: This isn’t an omegaverse, Luce.
LUCY: Sorry. I have to get my horny kicks somewhere, you know? And the smut scenes in those omegaverse books are more like ohmygodverse.
ME: I think we’re too close.
LUCY: Why did you steal Fred’s pillowcase?
ME: He’s attracted to me, and I got turned on by him this morning.
LUCY: You’re right. We really are too close.
Yeah. There were some things not even sisters needed to share, I guess.
LUCY: Did you sort out the boner issue?
ME: I’m sleeping in my room.
LUCY: Why? Are you uncomfortable? I guess your lifelong best friend getting a boner over you might make things a bit weird.
ME: No. He said he doesn’t want anything physical, and I don’t trust myself not to tie him up and have my way with him.
LUCY: Ask him. He might like it. Harvey does sometimes.
ME: TMI.
LUCY: Sorry.
LUCY: Why doesn’t he want a physical relationship with you?
I recapped what he’d said to me this morning.
LUCY: Wow.
LUCY: Does he know you were turned on?
ME: I never said it, but I was definitely acting weird, so he probably figured it out. He knows me better than anyone.
LUCY: Yeah. Well. Who could have imagined this would happen?
Something told me that was a rhetorical question.
ME: What do I do???
LUCY: Fuck him.
ME: LUCY!!!
LUCY: He’s your husband. Fuck him. Every day. On the bed. The desk. In the shower. In the car. Under the stars. On a cliff edge. Next to a river. On that three-hundred-year-old dining table.
LUCY: Just fuck him.
LUCY: Hard and fast. And often.
I really should have known better than to ask a horny pregnant lady what to do here.
LUCY: Or keep crying into your husband’s pillow like a loser.