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Late Nights With You
How could I let you go when you were on the other end of the line?
“Hey, it’s me.”
The hush of your breath is soft, barely perceptible, but I hear the humor in your voice as you say, “Can’t sleep, Em?”
“You know how I am,” I say, leaning back into my pillows and letting your voice wash over me in waves. “Once I get stuck on a project, it consumes me.”
“I think an email would have sufficed then.”
But I know you’re not being cruel or dismissive. You’re testing me, just like you always do, but I won’t rise to the bait — not yet, at least. I’m not ready to lose the game we’ve been playing for months. We just seem to be at a standstill.
“An email’s so impersonal,” I say. “Besides, don’t you want to hear me rattle off a dozen reasons why I’m procrastinating?”
You sigh, and I can imagine you shifting in your bed just to get comfortable for the long haul of what might be a lengthy conversation. “At least tell me you’re wearing something sexy. Put my mind at ease.”
A delicious heat crawls up my neck, but — again — I won’t rise to the bait. “Maybe if you indulge me a bit then I’ll snap a picture just for you.”
