kerfluffle, cont'd

Naturally, I awoke a good twenty minutes before the alarm went off. Usually waking early made me sour and crabby, as the sleep-deprived tend to be when our well-earned sleep is stolen from us. But this morning, the extra twenty minutes to lie in bed awake, basking in memories of the night before, felt like a gift.

I moved closer to Michael and threw my right leg over him, nestling down into his arm, breathing in his funky morning smell. He turned to me, arm around my waist. It was perfect. I found myself wondering why every morning couldn't be like this, and then promising myself that they would be from now on. A kiss on Michael's neck woke him just enough that he groaned and rolled on top of me as I grabbed his ass and held on for the ride. Good morning, lover.

Almost thirty minutes later, we were officially behind schedule, but it was worth it. Michael had corralled the boys and prepared breakfast for all of us, a minor miracle in the history of our household. I caught him stealing glances my way as I dressed and primped for the day. I had always wondered what he thought about my habit of dressing for an office when I work here at home. And a sexy pretend office I was dressing for, at that. It seemed far-fetched even to me, my story about how I want to be ready to go on lunch meetings; that somehow it's easier to dress than to stay in my yoga pants all day.

The truth is, I like clothes, and I love looking good. There's something attractively insurrectionist about wearing a garter belt and bustier under a fierce business suit, even alone in my own house, that motivates me to work and be creative. So I do it, every day. Plus, it's not like I go unappreciated, even if Michael doesn't always notice. But he was noticing now, and he was certainly noticing last night, and somehow it felt like we had turned a corner. Like we had been given the chance to look at each other again, to appreciate one another anew. Man, I wasn't gonna squander that.

A whirlwind of lunches, gym clothes, backpacks, boots and coats later, I had driven the kids to school and was back again. Slinging my purse on the desk in my office off the bedroom, I noted for the thousandth time how peaceful it was to come back here after each other family member was off on his daily adventure. Now it was time for mine.

I booted up my laptop and lighted in the desk chair. Keeping my heels on at home was part of the charade; I crossed my legs, careful not to catch my stocking on the underside of the desk. Glancing into the bedroom as I waited for the computer, I let my thoughts return to last night, to the making up after our ridiculous fight. God, thinking about our lovemaking even just for a moment sent a particular ache to my belly. Quite a bit lower than that, actually. I had to cross my legs the other way.

Power up, email on, and first on the task list was marketing materials and magazine ad copy for the RoundHead Brewery. This would be a good one. And I did have a lunch meeting today, with Dave. Dave, CEO of Focus Marketing, from whom I was referred at least half of my clients these days. Dave, with whom I had history. This should be an interesting day. My eyes wandered back to the bedroom. We had forgotten to make the bed this morning, and that was perfect, the duvet tossed on the floor. That was just how I felt, though I strove to look perfectly pulled together.

Better get started, then. I opened my notes file for the RoundHead account, but almost immediately my cheeks flamed hot as the beep and green light of my email chat window presented itself.

Hey, Mo.

It was Dave. Of course it's Dave, we have a lunch meeting today, he's confirming. But why must he be so casual with his Hey, Mo? This is never going to end, it is just never going to end. It should be over, but it is so clearly not.

Hey there, Dave.

R we still on for lunch, hun?

The tingle below my belly came back.

Yep. 12:30 at Marchand's, right?

Keep it cool, Mo, keep it cool. Remember last night? How your husband made you so happy? How you and Michael made up for lost time, how he climbed way deep inside you and turned you inside out? How you held on and never wanted to let go? Don't fuck that up, girl. You should cancel with Dave.

OK, see u then. Maybe you'll have time for me after, even.

Oh, man. I won't. I won't have time for you. Oh, who am I kidding?

Maybe I will.

This is part SIX of an ongoing Thing That Has No Name that comrade Michael Webb and I are creating. SIX, I tell you. It's so complicated now, I'll need to figure out how to link to them all so you can read 'em in order. But for now, go back and read Part Five by Michael, and he's linked to the earlier ones if you haven't been following along. Yet. Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I am enjoying writing them.