Page 76 of Delay of Game

I shake my head and slam the lid of my laptop shut. I stand up and pace my living room for a minute before dejectedly plopping down on my soft, oversized reading chair. Pulling my phone out of my sweatpants, I start looking for inspiration. “How to spice up your sex life,” I type into the search bar.

The first article that pops up is something that no one in the history of existence should ever read, so I move on to the next. My eyebrow lifts up, and I click on it. This one talks about everything from experimenting with toys, to acting out fantasies, to exploring erogenous zones. My eyes widen and I quickly exit out. Maybe I’m not quite this adventurous yet.

Before I can turn off my phone for good, something catches my eye. “Five reasons why you should do a boudoir photoshoot.”

An hour later, I finally come out of the rabbit hole I went down. I put my phone away and turn on my computer, inspiration hitting me all at once. Maybe my character is curious enough to get some boudoir shots and send them to her brother’s best friend—I mean, her childhood friend.

Except the more I write, the more I realize I have no idea what I’m talking about. After a couple glasses of wine and a lot of frustrated groans, I get back on my phone and start searching for boudoir photographers in the area. I grab the bottle to top off my glass and realize that it’s empty. Huh, when did that happen?

I get a notification from the app that connects me with photographers in the area and it looks like Sam is available tomorrow.

Well, don’t mind if I do.

I wakeup in my reading chair the next morning with drool on my face and a pounding headache. Did I really kill a whole bottle of Riesling by myself and pass out?

My phone buzzes and I squint at the message on the screen. Apparently, Sam will be here tonight for our appointment. What appoint?—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

No, no, no.

Please, please, dear God or whoever is out there, please give me a sign that I didn’t book a boudoir photoshoot. My phone dings again and when I tap the message, I see a receipt for a non-refundable payment.

Fuck.

I scramble out and run a hand through my messy hair. There’s got to be a way out of this. This Sam person will understand. Right? It was just a drunken mistake.

I groan and decide to call the one person who would not judge me for this.

“Hello,lapsi?*.” Normally his nickname for me—kid—would irritate me, but I’m too distressed to care.

“Eli, help me!”

His voice changes from amusement to concern in an instant. “What happened?” Eli says, his Finnish accent coming out like it does when he’s angry or serious.

“I think I did something really stupid,” I say, choking on the words. I think I might actually cry. What was Ithinking?

“Are you safe?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m not in any actual danger, Eli. I’m just freaking out.”

“Helvetti?*!You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

Eli sighsand says, “Okay, tell me. What happened?”

I wince. Eli and I talk about everything, so I shouldn’t feel embarrassed about this, but I think that maybe this might be crossing the line. He’s like a brother to me after all, and it’s not like he gives me details of his and Ash’s sex life, so why should I bring up mine?

“Al?”

“Okay, just please don’t think of me as weird after I tell you,” I say but don’t give him a chance to reply. “So, I was writing a chapter last night and it got smutty, but I wasn’t getting the flow of it right, so I ended up researching boudoir photoshoots and I may have gotten drunk on a bottle of wine and accidentally booked a photographer.” I rush out the last of the words and hold my breath in anticipation.

Eli chokes and sputters on whatever he’s drinking, and after a long moment he sighs so loudly that I can almost feel it in my own bones through the phone. “What the fuck?” His accent makes it sound more likewatdafokand I grimace.

“Sorry, TMI, I just don’t know what to do. Apparently, I paid $300 for someone to come take pictures of me in my lingerie.”

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