We were getting ready for work.
“Are you over your funk now?” JJ asked after stepping out of the shower. I have to say, that man looks good wet. It’s almost a crime when he dries off and puts clothes on.
I was searching through the dresser for a shirt. “Not quite, but I will no longer inflict it on you if that’s the real question.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“Yes, I am.” I decided I was in a ‘blue’ mood today and chose accordingly. “I’m entitled once in a while.”
“There’s a stain on that one,” he said behind me.
I grumpily removed it and tossed it into a wastebasket. “Shit.”
“Planning to be an asshole all day?”
“Nope. In fact, this was a good thing, finding out I sold almost no copies of any of my stories.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Well, when I was writing all the time, I hardly made time to exercise. I kept blaming the Muse for turning me into a stodgy couch potato with legs. Now, I can tell the Muse to go fuck herself and get my muscle mass back. For christ’s sake, my biceps are turning into pasta.”
He wisely did not agree, or I may have punched him out and what man would want to have to tell people that a Pasta Monster gave him a black eye?
Dressed, we grabbed keys and Suki and left. As we walked downstairs, he said, “Writing today?”
I shrugged. “I’ll decide that later.”
Once we hit the sidewalk, we went in opposite directions. I was almost glad he didn’t wish me a good day.