February, 2004

It had been bold of Shiro to make demands considering he was essentially at the mercy of his new employers.  But when said employers had been courting him for almost eight years and had signed him to a contract even though he were the athletic equivalent of a cripple, Shiro supposed it wasn’t so outlandish a move.  Not only that, it hadn’t been an extravagant request; and at least the person whom he’d asked understood it in the first place.

“That anxious to see my daughter, Shiro?” Otis Holmes had commented over the phone with a laugh.

“It has been many years since I have seen her in person,” Shiro had reminded the older man.

It also didn’t hurt Lydia had all but begged for the opportunity to retrieve him from the airport, according to Otis.  They hadn’t seen each other since before her freshman year in college when Otis had taken her with him on a business trip to Japan that doubled as her graduation present.  He’d had a lot of fun playing tour guide to her tourist, and she’d even gotten a chance to participate in a workout with his team.  He hadn’t wanted her to go after that week anymore than she had, but they’d spoken just about every day and had exchanged pictures during the years.

“It’ll be good to see you,” he’d said.  “I know my daughter thinks so.”

Shiro didn’t miss how he’d stressed the word; he’d always been protective of his only child.  In fact, Lydia had told him her father would only pay for all-women’s schools when she’d been applying to universities because he didn’t trust someone could treat her right.

“Sucks to be the daughter of a single man in a male-dominated sport sometimes,” she’d bemoaned.

Takeshiro might or might not have sent Otis a fruit basket of gratitude and support of his edict.  Not that he would ever tell Lydia that.  Ever.

His back had a slight spasm as he reached into the overhead bin upon landing, causing him to freeze and try to bite down a hiss.  He’d made sure to get up and walk the aisles every hour as much as he were able during both legs of his trip from Tokyo to Orlando; although he’d taken enough drugs to knock him out for most of the flight from the island to San Francisco.  But the route between San Francisco and Orlando had him antsy.  None of the in-flight movies had kept his attention and the books he’d packed specifically for the flight had appeared dull and boring once he’d started reading them.  There was no position quite comfortable enough in his first-class cabin seat, and the elder white woman next to him kept trying to initiate conversation with him even though she thought he could barely speak English.

Bless her heart, as Lydia would say.

The thought of her suddenly reminded Takeshiro to turn on his mobile.  Sure enough, there was a text message from Lydia saying she was waiting in the baggage claim area.

He’d grabbed his row partner’s bag first and presented it to the woman with a smile.

“Thank you, young man,” she’d said, her smile warm and grateful.

“De nada,” Shiro replied, and nodded again at the woman’s confused expression.

He, as had his father, had been born in Brazil; consequently, Portuguese had been one of the first languages he’d ever learned.

The tension in his lower back eased now that he could walk in his usual stride.  The roller suitcase he pulled maneuvered easily behind him because he’d had much practice packing efficiently and lightly.  As it were, he had enough just navigating around children wearing Mickey Mouse ears and hollering they didn’t want to leave the magical money pit that was Orlando, Florida.

The baggage claim was almost more chaotic than the terminal had been, and he shuffled his way to the carousel where his flight’s baggage would be arriving.  Though he didn’t have any bags waiting for him, that seemed to be the most logical place to start in spotting Lydia.

It was only a moment before he found her…not alone.  A tall man stood next to her, chatting her up, looking slicker than oil on ice.  He didn’t need to be in her face like that; and the guy didn’t notice Lydia was being too much of a lady by easing back ever so often instead of telling him to ease up a little.

Luckily, he had no such qualms doing that very thing.

Shiro decided to approach Lydia from behind, so the man with her would see him before she did.  The man stopped talking just as Shiro tapped Lydia’s shoulder.  Lydia stopped talking just as his lips brushed against hers.  He felt her body go into a complete freeze from shock.

“Konnichiwa, Lydia,” Shiro said, his lips grazing hers as he spoke.

Though it had been eight years since they’d first met and almost five since they’d last seen each other, Lydia apparently still only glanced 5’4” wearing pumps, which meant he would usually have to lean down his six-even frame to give her a hug or a kiss on the cheek.  Since she was wearing flat flip flops with a demure and far-too-revealing tangerine summer dress, and she hadn’t yet risen to the balls of her feet, he felt very acutely how much being rear-ended truly hadn’t agreed with him.  Then a small, light pressure appeared against the small of his back, and he pulled away enough to see Lydia smile softly.

“Better?” she mouthed, her fingers carefully digging into the flesh at the base of his spine.

He brushed his lips against hers once more with gratitude.

“Yeah, um, well, nice to meet you, Lydia…dude,” the other man said, mumbling his salutation to Shiro as he walked away.  Shiro remained close until the crowd had swallowed Lydia’s new best friend.  His eyes then widened and he let out a sharp breath when the pressure at his back turned anything but pleasurable.

“Don’t ever embarrass me like that again!”

“Gomen, gomen!” he whispered harshly, eyes pleading with her.

Lydia grinned wryly but accepted the apology. The pressure returned to being pleasurable and even loosened up some muscles that had been knotted for weeks it seemed.

“Better?” she asked again, this time out loud.

“Yes,” Shiro said.  “Graças.”

She smiled again and gave him a proper hug.  Shiro released his hold on his suitcase to return it.  This hello was much more preferable to the Japanese bow or the American handshake that had predominated his life these last few years, but he briefly wished they were in Brazil so he could get away with more kissed greetings.

A sleek current model of the Ford Mustang would be her ride for most of spring training.  He no longer had his American license because he’d moved out of the States.  One of the books he’d packed was Georgia’s rules and regulations on driving; since he would be living there again, he needed to get a new license.

“How was the flight?” Lydia asked, paying the toll to get off of airport property.  “Or flights I should say.”

“All right,” he replied, and proceeded to to give her a brief recap.  As expected, she laughed when she heard about his last row partner and took her hand off the steering wheel to squeeze his knee.

“You’re nicer than I am. I probably would’ve spoken in perfect English just to mess with her,” Lydia said on a chuckle.

“She was a nice woman, Lydia, and undeserving of your snark,” Shiro disagreed.  “But it was still a little…off putting.” Yet it was the complete opposite when he tangled his fingers with hers, and he breathed deeply.  This tactile sensation was something he’d longed for during their conversations online, which were brief in and of themselves because there was a fourteen-hour difference between them.  So usually after a game his time, which was right before she went to work her time, they would exchange instant messages and then spend the rest of the day talking by e-mail.  So many times he would get something from her that would just be a word (usually “HELP!”) or a cell phone shot of something that was happening in her office at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution during her internship there.  He secretly didn’t like it when she forwarded photos of her and whatever athlete she’d been interviewing because jealousy would overtake him.  It wasn’t fair this man who didn’t care for her had free access to hold her while he didn’t.

“But I know how frustrating that is for you,” Lydia said gently, squeezing his fingers.  “You can’t just ever be who you are sometimes.”

“A Japanese American-Brazilian,” Shiro said on a sigh.  “People think I cannot speak Japanese, American, or Brazilian without tripping over words.”

Lydia laughed, the sun catching in the brown of her eyes when she looked at him.  He wanted to bury his fingers in her short, pixie haircut and truly give her a proper hello, but he didn’t take any more liberties.  He was sure her fondness for him and her relief the other man’s unwanted attention had ceased were the reasons he hadn’t had to crawl to the car in further agony for his impetuous kiss.

“Meanwhile there are Americans who can’t speak English, or ‘American’ as you claim,” Lydia said with a shake of her head.

“Your Journalism bias is showing,” Shiro teased, though his tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

Lydia snickered and removed her hand from his to change lanes.  “Guilty, guilty.”

He opened his mouth to laugh but a yawn escaped instead.

“Take a quick nap,” Lydia ordered.  “You’re gonna like your pad.  Really comfortable.  Condos are nice.”

“Are we sharing one?”

Lydia laughed.  “No!  And I barely avoided having to share one with my father. He seems to forget I’m not a kid anymore sometimes.”

Shiro’s eyes had drooped closed, but he managed enough energy to pop one open and look at her.  When she’d been younger, she’d worn jerseys and other overlarge clothing to hide her burgeoning frame.  Now, there was only enough of her smooth wenge-wood skin covered to maintain acceptable modesty, and her curves wouldn’t be denied.  He could admit he’d paid more attention to the flare of her hips and bottom in her skirt than where he was walking as he’d followed her out of the airport.

He was grateful and annoyed by the day’s unseasonably warmer weather.

“You are practically ancient now,” Shiro said, coming back to their conversation, and grinned sleepily when she laughed in return.

It was much better to hear it than to read “LOL” it in a message box.

It had felt he’d only just closed his eyes when Lydia shook him awake.  His eyes took in the pastel, tropical villas before falling on her face.  Unable to deny himself, he traced a plump cheek with his thumb and watched her eyes drop closed at the contact.

“I’ve really missed you, Takeshiro.”

“Now you will not have to,” he replied, his fingers teasing her full lips.

They stared at each other for another moment, then Lydia pulled back and got out of the car.  He shook his head when he saw she’d grabbed his suitcase but immediately drew his hand back from taking it when she glared at him.

“You are overdue for your pill, aren’t you?” she asked, unlocking the door to his villa.  Both paused at the entrance to take off their shoes before going further inside.

It was two stories.  The foyer was linoleum giving way to plus cream carpet and plush furniture with a dark wood coffee table as the living area’s centerpiece.  There was a flat screen HDTV on the wall across from the cream sofa and a console of movies, gaming systems, and video players.

“Yeah so far?”

“I cannot complain,” he said, approving of the amply spaced kitchen with its granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.  The deep brown of the cabinetry topped off the refined look.

“Upstairs is even better,” she promised, hiking up his suitcase as she climbed the stairs.  It was then he caught up to her and carried his suitcase himself.

“I am fine enough for this, Lydia,” he promised her.

“It wasn’t heavy,” she insisted.

“That does not matter.  You are not my bellhop.”

They stared at each other until Lydia relented with a suck of her teeth.  His free hand touched the space between her shoulder blades to ameliorate her supplication.  He earned a grin over her shoulder for his effort.

There were two bedrooms on the second level; one had a king-size bed in it while the other had two twin beds.  Shiro wondered why Otis didn’t just get him a one-bedroom suite instead of all this luxury, but he supposed he shouldn’t complain.  He had free lodging, after all.

“Maybe Kenshin could come and visit you during spring break,” Lydia said, poking her head into the room with the twin beds.  “Wouldn’t he like that?”

Shiro smiled slightly.  “Yes, and not necessarily to see me.”

Lydia smiled shyly at him and chuckled.  “You mean some cute little thing hasn’t caught his eye yet?”

Shiro shrugged.  “I am not sure, but it seems he has always liked women with a bit more ‘life experience’ than he possesses.”

Kenshin, at sixteen and already at six feet in height, never failed to have women eating out of the palm of his hand; but he was nowhere the Lothario as their middle brother Masaru.  Then again, playing football for a Brazilian club made one a rock star of rock stars with the groupies to go along with them.  As for himself, Shiro had certainly not been celibate; and he’d even had a multi-year relationship with a popular Japanese recording artist.  Lydia had had much fun teasing him by e-mailing him paparazzi photos of them together; but she’d also blown off a class during her junior year to console him when they’d broken up.

He hadn’t been in a serious relationship in the two years since then, instead enjoying the life of a bachelor.  The women he’d dated hadn’t wanted anything serious anymore than he had; but his previous high-profile relationship had made him Internet tabloid fodder for many Japanese sites.

At least until his car accident.

“You should get some rest,” Lydia said, and led the way into the master suite.  The bed looked very comfortable although it had been a while since he’d laid in one.  He couldn’t complain about the futon he’d left behind in his Tokyo flat.

“I should?”

“Yes.  Dinner tonight with Papa and some suits,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes.

He felt his back spasm in protest to this plan and the blood in his limbs turned into molten lead, but he knew making an appearance was vital to his survival here.  “Will you be there?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Will you be there?”

Lydia paused and bit her lower lip, something he hadn’t seen her do in years, but was somehow charmed she’d maintained that habit from her youth.  “I was going to work on a blog for the front office, actually.  It needs some copy.”

“Spring training has not started yet.”

She narrowed her eyes and then huffed, sagging against the door frame like a petulant child.  “I really have no interest in going, Shiro.  Didn’t when I was younger and certainly not now.”

“Please.  For me,” he persuaded.  “Besides, how else would I get there?”

“A car was being sent for you.”

“Lydia.”  He had the audacity to grin at her.  “Think of all the material you will gain for your blog…”

She narrowed her eyes further, and then suddenly her face smoothed out into a smile.  He probably should have felt dread over her rapid change in mood, but he felt anticipation instead.

“Be ready by 6:45 and not a minute later.”

He grinned and raised his eyebrows.  “I am Japanese, remember? We live by punctuality.”

“Uh-uh,” she said, raising her own eyebrow.  “You are also Brazilian and American, and both definitely know how to be late!”

He nodded, the smile still on his face, and walked up to her.  “Let me escort you out.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head, but she didn’t move from the door.

He stopped directly in front of her.  “I do not mind.  I must get some water and something to eat anyway.”

“There are some energy bars, although that may make resting a little more difficult,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t want to assume anything…”

He cupped her chin.  “You have been more than thoughtful, Lydia.  Arigatougozaimasu.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes until she dropped hers and started down the stairs first.  After she slipped on her shoes, she handed him the keys to his villa.  He let his fingers grasp hers.

“And I also thought the Japanese liked personal space,” she said, her voice not as strong as it usually was.

Shiro placed a lingering kiss to her right cheek, then the other.  “This is how Brazilians say goodbye.”

She took a deep breath and gave him a tremulous smile.  “Goodbye, then.  Quarter to seven?”

“Quarter to nineteen hundred, yes.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly but wiggled her fingers in a wave before going to the car.  Takeshiro stood at the door and watched her leave.  As tired as he was, he couldn’t wait to find out what she had in store for him.

***

Takeshiro Inoue hated to dance.  He’d told her as much early on in their friendship when she’d e-mailed her angst about her very first Homecoming dance and how she hadn’t wanted to go because she didn’t have a date.  She’d been more aggravated she’d even cared about such a thing, having thought herself above the teenage preoccupation of boys and dresses; but apparently, she truly had wanted that sweet high-school romance she’d seen on teen dramas Saturday mornings.

“You are too good for those boys,” he’d written in reply.  “You are amazing.”

Her heart had swelled, and she’d made an unwritten rule that any man who wanted to date her must make her heart swell like Takeshiro’s words did.

For a while, the few guys Otis Holmes would allow around his daughter had pitched no hitters.  She hadn’t even bothered to get into the batter’s box for most of them.  Then she’d gone to college and had met a computer science major from UNC-Greensboro her sophomore year at Bennett College.  Up until then, she’d not so much as fluttered her eyelashes at a boy.  But Mr. Computer Science had been the one to initiate her in the ways of man and woman towards the middle of her junior year.

She hadn’t been the only one who he’d initiated, either.  In fact, at the begging of her senior year, she’d found out he’d once done it so well he’d initiated a woman right into motherhood.

A “supposed” good friend of hers, at that.

She’d spent more time talking Takeshiro out of telling her father about Mr. Computer Science or even coming to the States himself than crying over her betrayal.  She did remember telling Shiro she would never fall in love again, however.

“Do not be selfish because you were too giving to one who did not deserve you, amorzinho,” he’d said.  “You will be more discerning next time because you know what a silvered, false tongue sounds like.”

B maybe she was too discerning nowadays.  She hadn’t even been on a date since that debacle, too busy with finishing up her senior year and getting herself established in the team’s front office.  It probably helped she’d been spending most of her time around athletes, and she’d adhered to a strict rule of never, ever dating an athlete.  She’d heard too much and seen too much while hanging around her father.  And if a “nerd” could break her heart, an athlete would just obliterate it.  Most were full of entitlement and rarely had to do more than glance a woman’s way before he had his way with her.  The one thing she did appreciate about them, however, was their transparency.  She could see through a line or a lie as if it were cellophane, so she rarely felt off-kilter while around them.  And whenever she was down, an athlete knew how to talk her self-esteem up.

Her go-to athlete had always been Shiro; and had been since they’d exchanged their first e-mails when she’d been fifteen years old.  He’d been older but not too old, someone with life experience who wouldn’t lie to her because he wouldn’t be interested in her like that.  Well, she’d convinced herself as such.  What good would it have done her to pine for someone halfway around the world, who was so different from her except…not really.  She’d doubted she was his type, anyway; she didn’t know of many Asian men who wanted black girls, after all.

But at this very moment, Takeshiro Inoue was dancing with her, his hands low and possessive on her hips, his hot, heavy breath sweet from the sangria he’d been drinking as it hit her cheek.  He was moaning in her ear and grinding into her from behind; and her body vibrated more from his nearness than the thump and pulse of the music in the club.

She’d thought this would have been payback for a few days ago when he’d cajoled her to sit through a stuffy dinner at which she’d been more fascinated by the lingering water spots on her knife than the conversation around her.  There hadn’t even been any new or compelling tidbits revealed to pump up her blog—just a bunch of fat cats seemingly intent on keeping baseball as dull as CSPAN congressional hearings for the average fan.  Not only that, Shiro couldn’t even keep her entertained because he’d been seated at a completely different table!

Oh, she’d vowed for retribution, and she’d been certain she would get it.

The first step had been her strapless magenta dress whose fabric caught the light; some matching stilettos she had no intention of wearing beyond walking into the club itself because inside her black-beaded clutch were black foldable ballet flats.  Her black-beaded hoop earrings and black-beaded wrist cuff bracelet would add to the extra power she was packing into her punch, and she would make damn sure she danced her heart out while Takeshiro hid in a corner while wishing he were anywhere but there.  She wasn’t going to feel the least bit guilty for bringing him someplace where he would’ve had to fend for himself.  For one, he was a big boy; for two, she wanted to see how he’d like them apples!

But no.  He wasn’t sitting at a table with a stoic, even bored expression while she danced with friends and colleagues.  He wasn’t checking his watch by the bar while ignoring tipsy-to-completely-drunk women asking him for a dance or more.

Takeshiro was punishing her for her piss-poor attempt at revenge, and Lydia had little desire to stop him.

She felt his hardness against her back and her knees quaked.  It was the club atmosphere, the air heavy with alcohol and pheromones.  The clubbers were shaking and gyrating off the pink and red hearts and cupids that had inundated them all this night; but Amour’s cousin Lust was really running the show at this Valentine’s Day party.

Shiro pressed her flush against him, his large hand firm on her lower abdomen.  Lydia’s breath caught and she snaked her body against his, grinning when his hand quirked against her.  Then his fingers teased at her pelvic bone, and she hoped the driving throb of the music around them masked her moan.

When his lips pushed one of her earrings away to graze her neck, and the hairs of his neatly trimmed goatee tickled her skin, the space between her legs swelled with want.  Lydia couldn’t draw proper breath into her lungs because Shiro stole it with each tease of his tongue against her skin.

“It is time for us to leave, Coração,” Takeshiro whispered against her jaw line.

She had no idea what he’d just called her, but she managed a nod despite her feeling lightheaded.  He didn’t let her pull away when she started walking, and they weaved through the throng with the lie of Asian men being small digging into her back with each step.  They stopped at the table their group had commandeered earlier in the evening to inform one of her colleagues they were leaving.  The colleague grinned and winked at Shiro with a condescending thumbs up sign.

Takeshiro looked at him as if he were repulsive.

“C’mon,” Lydia whispered under her breath and dragged Shiro away from the table.  They grabbed their coats from coat check, Shiro helping Lydia into hers, and then he grasped her elbow as they walked out of the club.  She stood by the valet stand while Shiro gave the attendant their ticket.  The sudden drop in temperature made her shiver.  A pair of arms warm arms wrapped around her a moment later.

“The car will arrive shortly so you will not be chilled for too long,” Shiro said against her temple.

It could take the rest of the night if it meant staying in Shiro’s arms.  But as promised, the car appeared about a minute or two later.  They got in silently and the first few miles back to the resort occurred in silence. Shiro kept breathing deeply with his eyes closed, his position in the seat almost languid.  She stopped at a red light and chuckled with amusement.

“I didn’t think the car was that comfortable!”

“It is acceptable.”

“Are you meditating?” Lydia asked, and then she frowned.  “Will it take long?  We’re actually not too far now.”

He didn’t answer, so she assumed that meant he was.  She even turned off the radio so he could have as much silence as possible for his ritual.  She pulled into a space in front of his villa and sat quietly until his deep breaths stopped and he opened his eyes.  She flashed him a grin.

“All right?”

“I was not meditating,” he said.

She frowned.  “Oh.”

“I was taking in your scent.  You smell as delicious as you taste.”

She frowned more in confusion, and then she gasped with revelation.  He’d been smelling her arousal.  “Oh, my God!”  She laughed, embarrassed, yet turned on even more.  “And how could you possibly know that?”

“I do not, but I would like to.”

Her jaw dropped slightly as she tried to process if he were kidding or not.  It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had conversations that had drifted to the sexual before, but there had been computer screens and oceans between them then—not to mention Lydia had convinced herself they were just playing around.  Now there was just an arm rest and his eyes that almost touched her more powerfully than his hand ever could.

“Why?” she asked stupidly, then shook her head and closed her mouth.

Shiro closed his eyes and inhaled deeply again.  “Because I have been wondering for a very long time now, and I do not like to pass up opportunities.”

He could not have made his position any plainer, but the amount of power Lydia suddenly possessed made her wary and a bit frightened, not to mention she could now smell her arousal as well.  She bit her lip and looked out of the other window, her hands clutching the steering wheel as if it were a buoy.  This was the shift in the relationship they’d been avoiding because they could; distance and former age barriers had allowed it.  But Lydia couldn’t help wondering if the reason she’d not really made herself available to other men was because the one sitting next to her had already begun claiming her, from all the way back when she’d been fifteen years old.

“If you are uncomfortable—”

Lydia shook her head, not wanting to hear him call her out on her nervousness, because then she would chicken out of her curiosity and her own personal truth.  She’d been wondering as well, ever since that Japan trip when she and Shiro had first flirted with their burgeoning attraction.  They’d maintained proper decorum the entire time, especially he’d just begun dating his eventual long-term girlfriend, until it had been time to leave.  She’d broken the unspoken agreement of ignoring the bond that had been growing and strengthening exponentially between them and had cried into his chest right there in her hotel room, embarrassed, ashamed, and heartbroken she had to leave him.  He’d held her so closely, his lips murmuring Japanese and Portuguese consolations against her ear, that she couldn’t help but surrender a good hunk of her heart to him then and there.

“I have to go,” she’d croaked against his heart.

“I wish that were not so,” he’d replied.  And then he’d pulled her face from his chest, brushed away her tears with his thumbs, and had given her the most chaste and potent kiss on her lips.

It was only now, five years later, that she could admit he’d taken the rest of her heart with that simple kiss.  Why no other relationship could have worked, even with Mr. Computer Science, was because her heart had all but belonged to someone else.

Lydia sighed harshly and sagged in her seat. What a perfect day for such a realization!

“I have distressed you,” Shiro said eventually.

“No. I distressed myself,” Lydia said, and gave him a sad smile.  “I should not have teased you.”

“Perhaps not, but I did not mind,” he said with a slight smirk.  “I think some men tonight had wished it were, in fact, Halloween, because plenty had wanted to be me.”

Lydia burst out laughing at that, lolling her head so she could look at him.  His smile was stretched wide on his face, displaying perfect straight white teeth.  His eyes were crinkled with mirth, such an unusually bald expression for him.  Unthinkingly, she touched a corner of his mouth and her breath caught when his tongue snaked out to lick the middle knuckle of her middle finger.

“Delicious,” he reiterated against her fingers.

She caressed his lips, then drew her hand away and shoved it into her lap.  She stared at her fingers, still feeling the sensation of his soft lips and wet tongue upon them.  As unbelievably horny as she was, this was neither the time nor the place.  They’d only been physically reunited for a few days; and then she would barely see him once spring training actually started.  So with great difficulty, she dragged herself back into Platonic Land when it came to Shiro and exhaled roughly.

“I suppose I should wish you boa noite, Lydia,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” she said on a false chuckle.  “I’m sure your back is killing you from all that dancing we did!”

“It does ache a little; but it is a good ache,” he said.

She squeezed her legs tighter and nodded.  She looked up when he touched her cheek softly.

“Sleep well,” he told her.

“You too.  And don’t forget to eat something with your pill.”

Shiro smiled a little.  “I will not. Text me when you get home.”

He got out of the car once he’d gotten her assent.  She waited until he crossed the threshold before pulling out of the drive.  Lydia didn’t text him until she’d changed into her sleep clothes and climbed into bed.

I’m home. Thank you for being my Valentine for the evening, she sent to him.

A few seconds later her phone buzzed.

You are welcome; thank you for having the wisdom to choose me as such.

A slow smile spread across her face.  Ego much?

This reply came even quicker than the first.  With you on my arm? Inexhaustible.