AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Halfway through the movie, Sigurd lets me brush his hair. I go to paint my toenails, but he insists on doing it for me. He holds my toes one by one, and with the same concentration he shows to everything else, he paints my toenails a bright, iridescent blue.
“Pretty mermaid toes. Thank you.” I wiggle my toes, and he smiles.
“Hopefully, I didn’t do a shitty job.”
I eyeball his feet.
“Do you want me to give you one?”
“Give me what?”
“A pedicure. Men do get pedicures.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No guarantees, buddy.”
He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure, do it.”
“Go get my bathroom kit,” I say, clapping my hands excitedly.
And so, we spend the second half of the slightly dull rom-com with his feet nestled in my lap and me gently exfoliating, lotioning, shaping, trimming, and painting his toes.
By the time I’m done with him, the man’s Hobbit feet are starting to resemble a human’s.
When I look up, his head is lolled back, and he’s asleep, snoring gently.
And because I’m bored, I paint his toenails the same mermaid blue as mine. So what? It’s not like anyone is going to see us.
I gently move his feet off my lap and set them on the floor. He starts for a second, then stretches out in the corner. He looks so cozy and warm that I can’t resist curling up and resting my head in his lap.
Three orgasms have a way of wearing a girl out, and in the face of a rather bland movie, I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open.
So I allow them close and let myself fall asleep, Sigurd’s hand resting on my shoulder.
20
Sigurd
My phone dings.
Stasi’s head bobs where it lies in my lap.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings; I must have fallen asleep in front of this movie.
It’s a text.
Mirror Lake Market Shopper: “Your groceries have been delivered.”
That’s it? No fuss, no muss. I like it.
Cradling Stasi’s sleepy head, I move her to a sofa pillow so I can go to the door to grab the groceries. As I put things away, I see I have several more messages from just about everyone I know: Seven from my sister, Flora, and one from Torben, asking if I’m safe. One from Mother asking if I will attend Etienne’s wedding in a couple of weeks.
I don’t answer that one. I send a thumbs-up emoji to Torben.
I ring Flora’s number because talking is more my speed—which is saying a lot for a dude of few words. Some high-energy people text in flurries, and I can’t keep up. Flora? She’s a human texting blizzard.
“Where are you?!”
