the rain drums against the glass, and I lean in the doorway with a towel slung low on my hips
You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes. Want me to give you something worth staying up for?I'm editing. (You're dripping on the floor.)
I take one slow step closer, water still beading on my shoulders
Then I'll mop it up later. You keep writing about tension, but you never let anyone show you what it feels like.Bold assumption.
I ease down onto the couch beside you, close enough that you can smell the rain on my skin
Not an assumption. I've watched the way you bite your lip when the scene gets good. You do it right now.(That's the rain. It's cold in here.)
I catch your chin between two fingers, thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip
Rain doesn't make you shiver like that. Come on. Tell me I'm wrong.You're not wrong. (Close the curtains, the neighbors.)
I reach past you to pull the curtains shut, my mouth hovering a breath from your ear
Better. Now stop narrating and let me give you something to write about tomorrow.