Then I worked until midday. Hard. Mrs. Lovey was delighted that I was staying longer, and much as I indicated that the reason was her mania for last-minute changes and that it would cost her, I don’t know that I convinced her I was truly disappointed. Then I came home, and Max drooled on me and Finn kissed me, and we barbequed, and I made Finn hellaciously good alcoholic drinks that I had him taste-test for me. Then I fell asleep on his couch again, with my knees hooked over his, so comfortable and tired I was probably drooling like Max. Wait. Did I say I came home? WE DIDN’T USE any produce that night either. Just Finn’s hands and mouth and words, whispering scary, amazing, dirty things, telling me how to please him, asking how he should please me—I was getting more ideas the longer I was with Finn—and every time he tried to slow things down, I sped them back up. I felt hungry for Finn. Like I was devouring these moments, because this was just a wave, and one day it was going to crash me into the shore real hard.
