Page 81 of Darling

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Andhe didn’t have a heart attack again or die on my bed.

I feel high as a kite about the whole thing as I shoot off a text to Am:

Me:

Christian came home from London early. He fucks like the British government pay him to do it. Like he’s the best they have: world saving cock.

I accompany this with the melting emoji, the eggplant, and the British flag. Then I flick the shower back on. This one is far quicker than the one I’d taken with him earlier—I’m in and out in under five minutes. I dress in shorts and a tank and sit down to do some work on the painting I’d started yesterday as a panicked, spiralling mess. As a guy who hadn’t yet been fucked by Sir Christian Darling, the British Ambassador to the United States. I can barely remember that guy. What a loser.

My phone vibrates with Amata’s reply.

Am:

SCREAMING. So happy for you Babyboy. You deserve the best sex.

Me:

Thank you. It was the best.

Am:

Like ever?

I consider my response.

Me:

Well, I think so yeah. He’s the only one I’veever been in love with, so yeah, it was pretty intense.

Am:

Oh, my baby. I’m working until 6. Will I come over with wine after for a debrief?

Me:

I think he’s hanging out here today before he goes back to work. Tomorrow?

Am:

Yeah, sounds great. I’m so happy for you bb x

Me:

But worried too, right?

Am:

Yeah, that was top of list 2. But enjoying every moment with your hot older British lover was top of list 1 so…

I smile down at the phone.

Me:

I love you. Talk later

Am:

love you more bb

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