The Journal
May 17
He was all over me, and I him. I remember screaming out his name and licking him in places I haven't even seen. Bobby! How can I even look at him tomorrow morning?!
Backing up- We were at some five star hotel, in a high roller suite. Bobby was wearing some ridiculous yellow Hawaiian shirt with these green spiky leaves all over it. And jeans. I remember the jeans, because… well. Bobby looks good in jeans.
I was in some kind of red formal that had a low back and probably 400 tiny white buttons snaking up the front of it. The damn things were impossible to manage! I think half of my time was spent just putting that damn dress on.
And he ordered room service, champagne and some kind of fruit, and then all of a sudden we were on the balcony, the hot tub bubbling beside us, and Bobby said he was hot and opened up that crazy shirt.
One by one, the white buttons started popping off my dress. I kept trying to fix it, but I would fix one and lose another and then he was helping and then he wasn't helping and next thing you know we were naked in the hot tub.
Naked. And I know I never want to really think of him that way, but oh…
I'm going to be looking at Bobby differently tomorrow. Crazy ass dream!
"Eames, were you done with this?" Bobby asks, holding up the financials from the Whorten file.
His top button is loose. I can see a big gray bundle of man-fur poking out from behind the fabric. I clear my throat, lick my lips, summon my courage and look him in the eye. "Yeah," I say, my voice a squeak. I clear my throat again.
He smiles at me, in amusement. He turns to take the papers back to the interview room he'd been holed up in, and I can't help but stare at his ass until he is out of sight.