Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Wouldn’t that waste the day?” he asks.
“Absolutely,” I say. “And reset the body and mind at the same time.”
He shrugs. “Well, you went along with my plans yesterday, so I should fall in line today.”
“Hey, oysters Rockefeller were in your plans yesterday. It’s not like I had to sacrifice too much. Seriously, if you’ve arranged things, then let’s do what you’ve already got on our agenda.”
“I’m open to expanding my horizons to bed rotting,” he says, as if I’ve asked him to go fly-fishing for the first time or take Mandarin lessons. “You’ll have to be gentle with me, though. I’m a beginner.”
I laugh at how earnest he’s being.
“What’s first?” he asks.
I shrug. “We go back to bed, of course.”
“Really?” He glances out of the window. The sun is shining and the sky is blue. I bet it’s cold, but it would be that dry cold that’s perfect with the sun on your face, wrapped up in a big, warm coat.
“We can go out,” I say.
“Absolutely not,” he says, nodding toward my bedroom. “We’re bed rotting. We can’t go out on bed-rotting Sunday, Avril. Don’t you know anything?”
I laugh, pick up my coffee, and pad back to my bedroom. “Follow me and let Bed Rotting 101 commence.” I shuffle over to the side of the bed nearest the window and toss a couple of pillows at Ben. “Get comfy,” I say.
“Let me get the TV on,” he says. Opposite the bed is a large black-and-white photograph of a chair, with a straw seat, and a pipe on it, like a remake of the famous Van Gogh painting. The picture opens like a door to reveal a TV screen.
“Do you have hidden cameras around here as well as hidden TVs?” I ask.
“Distrustful and paranoid. Stop it.” Then he pauses. “Have you ever recorded yourself…having sex? Is that your thing?” His eyes meet mine and everything tingles. Pajamas feel like not enough clothes and being so close to a bed suddenly feels dangerous.
“No,” I snap. Then I look at him out of the corner of one eye. “Have you?”
He shakes his head. “Too paranoid and distrustful, I think. But I would be open to it if…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, which is infuriating.
“If what?” I ask.
He tosses a remote control onto the bed and climbs in next to me. “I don’t know. I think it could be hot if you trusted a person.”
“But could you ever trust a person that much? And anyway, what if someone hacked into…”
He nods. “Yeah, you’d have to go old school.”
“Like a camcorder with tape or something? I don’t think you can even buy that kind of thing anymore.”
“I’m sure you can get them. Anything’s available at the right price.”
“Of course it is,” I say, scornfully.
“You can hate it, but it’s life.”
He’s right. And he knows that better than most people. He’s seen his life collapse because of not having enough money. It’s not like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
“You’re right,” I say.
“It’s still a risk. Someone could break in, take the tapes.”
“That’s extreme. I’m not sure burglars are looking for old camcorder tapes. They’re going to break in here looking for watches and jewelry. And cash.”
“Right,” he says. “So we’ve got the security figured out. Just gotta find the right person.” He turns to look at me and raises his eyebrows. “Want to put a fresh spin on bed-rotting Sunday?”
I push him away with my palm. “‘Wanna make a porn video with me’ isn’t a charming question to ask a woman. You should know that.”
“I’m not sure if it’s porn. More of a documentary if anything. But I’d pay a lot of money to be able to watch what happened between us last Saturday night.”
I turn to face the TV, determined that he shouldn’t see the flush of my cheeks or the way my thighs automatically squeeze together at the memories of Saturday night. “Put the TV on, Ben,” I say, my tone warning.
Ben sighs with mock disappointment and fluffs up his pillows behind him. We sit side by side, facing the TV as he presses the remote. “So what do we watch in the first hour of bed rotting?”
“There’s no set format. We watch what we want to watch.”
“So what do you want to watch? Seeing as we don’t have tapes of last Saturday night, because that would definitely be top of my list.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“But I have a nice arse. And I’m a rescuer of cats.”
“Now put on Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. That will calm your libido a little.”
Eventually, we find the entire series of the New York City outpost of the franchise. “Oh this,” I say. “Definitely this. You’ve probably banged a couple of these women. Let’s see.”
It starts to play and the housewives line up on the screen, holding out their apples for us all to be tempted by.