Page 89 of Faking the Pass
“And speaking of being a normal, healthy male… I’m going to need somealone timeevery day,” Presley says. “If I’m in the bathroom with the door closed—any room really—you’re not going to want to disturb me.”
My mouth and throat went so dry I felt like I was in a desert rather than the humid tropics. I started coughing, and Presley oh-so-helpfully filled a glass of water and handed it to me.
“You okay there?”
I took several gulps then nodded. “Yeah. I think it’s that dry air from the plane yesterday.”
“Don’t you want to write that down?” he prodded. “A-l-o-n-e–”
“I know how to spell alone time,” I snapped.
“Maybe you’d better write some down for yourself. You sound pretty tense.”
There was a note of laughter in his voice, and I realized what he’d been doing.
“You jackass.” I tossed the pen at him, and he swerved and ducked to avoid it, cackling like a hyena.
“You should see your face,” he said, almost breathless with laughter.
When he got a hold of himself, he pointed at the notebook and said, “Your turn now.”
He feigned writing in the air and used a high, breathy fake voice.
“Presley isnotallowed to watch while Rosie shaves her bikini zone.”
“Shut up!”
I had no writing instruments left to throw, so I picked up a slice of cheese from my plate and tossed it at him. He caught it in mid-air and folded it into his smiling mouth.
“I see feeding each otherisstill on the table. I like it,” he said. “Though if we’re doing this by the letter of the law, it should say I prefer grapes dropped into my mouth one-by-one.”
“You are ridiculous,” I told him.
“I know,” he said. “You don’t even have to write that one down.”
Chapter 22
Good Clean Fun
Presley
Maybe I was ridiculous, but at least Rosie was smiling again.
When she’d jumped out of bed this morning and practically left a smoke trail behind her on the way to the bathroom, I’d been worried I’d offended her with my unintentional morning salute.
There had been no use pretending she hadn’t felt the hard-on, but I’d assumed we were both ignoring it and moving on.
When I’d come in from my morning swim, though, she’d acted so weird and uncomfortable I worried she’d spend the rest of the week locked away in the bedroom—alone—just like she did at home.
And who wanted to spend a week in a legitimate tropical paradise alone? I had to dosomethingto lighten the mood.
I figured if we were not going to be having sex on our honeymoon—which clearly we were not—we should at least hang out and try to have some fun together.
Apparently feeling more relaxed with the “contract” in place, Rosie agreed to go snorkeling with me in the reef near the house.
“You should always buddy swim when snorkeling,” I said once we were in the water. “So one person can keep an eye out for sharks.”
