Killing Me Softly Read Online Free PDF Page B

front of the fireplace. We may not have rose petals or sexy lingerie, but that would be damn romantic.
    Sinking back on the couch, Rob and I sit side by side, but not touching. I'm about to jump out of my skin. I can only imagine how he feels. He starts talking about school. Probably the last thing I want to be talking about now, but I can play along. We get on the topic of the union, something that we don't see eye-to-eye on. And never will. He's a union rep. I'm only a member because I have to be. And frankly, I'm resentful of how much my dues are and how many annoying e-mails they send me. I've shifted so my knees are pointing towards his and I'm leaning forward.
    My body language is totally indicating that I'm giving him the go-ahead for action. We're in a heated debate about the ongoing contract negotiations when I'm startled by movement at the other end of the room. I look up, nearly dropping my wine glass, and see a large man coming in a side door and heading towards the kitchen. He's dressed ... as Cupid? He's probably over six feet tall, with a white-blond curly wig. He's wearing leather chaps, biker boots, and a black leather vest. That's it, well, except for the wings, of course. No shirt, just a large heart-shaped tattoo on his arm with the word 'Mother' inscribed on it. He heads into the kitchen and I hear the fire door open to the bedroom wing. I could not really have seen what I just saw. Could I?
    "Did you see that?" I ask Rob.
    "No, what?"
    I start to describe what I've just seen, but I stop myself. Rob will think it's a bunch of hooey, like my premonitions. I can't explain them, but that doesn't mean that they're not real. Speaking of dreams, I've drunk a little more than I had intended, and I'm getting sleepy. Rob had better make his move soon or the heat of the fire is going to put me out. If Cupid is in the house, then it must mean that some romance is due to happen.
    Wait, why do I need to wait for Rob to make a move? It's the twenty-first century. If I want to get some action with my boyfriend, I can initiate things. I've been pretty passive in this relationship. I let Rob take the reins and run things right from the get-go. Which has left me stuck in a holding pattern, waiting for him to make the next move. Since the fall, things have been even duller. I'm dying for some spice, as my adventures last night proved. Why should I have to wait? If I want a little nookie, I should be able to get some. And maybe, just maybe, my increased interest will spark him to get off his duff and onto one knee.
    I put my wine glass on the end table and snuggle into Rob, resting my head on his shoulder. My hand lightly caresses his thigh. Running my fingers up and down his leg. Up and down. His arm is around me, and I'd like to think that he has pulled me in tighter. I hang in this position for a while, waiting for him to lean in and kiss me. But no, nothing. I sit up a little straighter and lean in. Rob is looking at me, leaning in. He just sits there.
    Okay, a relationship between two passive people just won't work. He's got to meet me halfway. But he holds still, so I lift my body up, trying to close the distance between our lips. Just as we're about to connect, something brushes by my hair. Rob's hands are down, one behind me and the other on my lap, so I know it's not him. I lift my right hand up to brush the fly, or whatever it is, away, when I feel something brushing my hair again. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see it. A bat.
    Perhaps it's because I've had about two bottles of wine, or perhaps it's because I did a lot of camping as a kid, but this doesn't faze me. I let out a noise that sounds like a "whoop, whoop" as I continue waving my hand about my hair, just to make sure the bat has not landed on my head. I jump to my feet and try to relocate, still waving and whooping. Moving around to the back of the couch, I notice Rob. He's on his stomach, underneath the coffee table. Dropping my hand to the side, I