Step three. During the movie, I hold his hand—the dutiful boyfriend. Afterwards, I let him drape an arm around my shoulders as he leads me to the car. Though it’s a bit awkward, I rest my head on his shoulder while he drives us home, careful to keep my eyes shut as if I’ve fallen asleep.
I haven’t. It’s part of my plan.
When we reach the house, he turns to me and shakes me gently. “Hey, babe. We’re here.”
He has to do it a few times until I pretend to wake. “Wha…?” You have to say it just right, like you were almost out and he’s only just managed to get you up or he won’t buy it.
“We’re home.” He says it low, pressing his lips against my ear and breathing those quick little breaths that says he might ravage me right here without even waiting until we get inside. As he helps me from the
