Today’s the day. Tonight’s the night. You’ve been planning this since seven days and seven nights ago when you made your first failed attempt. Remember how you bugged out for six whole days after that because you didn’t think you’d get a chance to tell him again? Well now’s your chance girl. Handle it.
No wait. He’s about to cook you dinner. Chicken. Mixed veggies. Even got some baby white onions in the mix. Mushroom risotto say what? No he did not just take out a bunch of garlic, wish he had one more, and then toss that shit in some olive oil and sprinkle rosemary on top of it.
OK. So maybe right this very second isn’t the best time to tell him. There’s really never a good time to say something like what you’re about to say though. Especially not over a meal he just cooked in front of you, over a glass of wine he pulled some McGuyver shit just to open. After dinner is better. Yeah, for sure.
Except now the two of you are watching Game of Thrones and the motherfucker brought out some caramel apple pie Haagen-Dazs. How dare he. Stop doing that thing where you put your arm around her waist. Tell him to stop resting his head on your head. How are you supposed to tell him you can’t see him anymore as he’s stroking your arm and smelling your hair? I guess you can wait until the episode is done.
Of course as soon as it’s done he breaks out his laptop. And you know how important work is to him – just as important as work is to you. So you break out your laptop too. You don’t even sit next to him. Instead you hop on the other couch in an attempt to distance yourself from the trainwreck in your aorta that is sure to happen if you continue stalling. There he is. He’s right in front of you – GO.
OK. Somewhere in between the last paragraph and this one your body didn’t get the memo your brain sent because now you’re in his bed. Cotton candy kisses and fruit cocktail. Ribbon fingers, silky whispers, and tugs at the nape of your neck. Way to grab the bull by the horns buddy.
You’re done now right? OK, how about now? No? Damn girl, what about now? OK finally. Now is the perfect time, he’s still awake. Nice and calm and in a state of euphoria. Go ahead, fuck it all up. At least he got his. His face is less than a foot away. You just stopped breathing for five seconds, and tensed up a little. Holy shit, are you really about to tell him? You take a deep breath and then say …
That’s it? Are you fucking serious? *smh*