Mated to a Human

☽ 28 ☾

Still alone in the master bedroom, I approach the end of the bed as though any sudden noise will awaken someone sleeping under the covers. My gaze trickles from the wood canopy down to the stack of pillows, along the duvet pulled taut, and finally, to the edge of the mattress almost touching my thighs.

Is this where it's going to happen — if not tonight, then some other night?

I peer around the grandiose room; there are definitely worse places to be intimate for the first time, but all of this hefty furniture and wood paneling makes me feel like a timid nineteenth-century girl on her wedding night, just married to a man she hardly knows, now annexed to a house she's never stepped foot in.

But I know Harvey, and I've been here before. He's turned up the heat for me and gone to get snacks; he wants me to be comfortable.

Harvey comes through the open bedroom door with a bowl of popcorn, water bottles, and two beers.

He eyes my change of clothes. "Didn't know if you'd want a drink or not, so I grabbed some waters too."

I take the popcorn from him and one of the beers. His eyebrows raise as I set the popcorn down on the bed to twist open the beer bottle; it makes a popping and fizzing noise, and then I sip, thinking a drink will settle my nerves.

"Alright," he says and sets the other drinks on the nearest nightstand. "Let me just put something else on."

He tosses the remote onto the bed, so I reach and grab it, turning on the TV across from the bed which sits on a dresser with curved feet. I watch both the screen and Harvey as he opens one of the wardrobes, takes something out, comes to the dresser, and takes another thing out of the first drawer, momentarily blocking the screen.

I hold the rim of my beer bottle against my mouth. He disappears into the washroom, and I bring the bottle down.

For the couple of minutes he's gone, I scroll through movie titles, trying to determine what genre would work best. A romance movie seems too suggestive, but a comedy isn't serious enough. A horror movie will only make me more tense, so I switch to the trending category in hopes of a cross-genre mishmash movie that's perfectly balanced.

I land on The Breakfast Club. It's funny, but not too ridiculous — romantic, but not overly so — and the retro feel can be quite cozy. Besides, I'm sure Harvey will watch whatever I want to put on.

After having another slug from my beer, I go to the other side of the bed. I sit cross-legged halfway up the mattress and drag the popcorn closer to me, cupping some into my mouth.

Harvey comes out shirtless and in a pair of flattering shorts. My chewing slows. I catch myself ogling, so I swallow and point to the TV. "How about this?"

Harvey glances at the title as he comes to the side of the bed nearest the door. "Yeah, sure. Here, I'll lower the lights."

He detours to the light switch and dims the ceiling light until it can't lessen anymore. A light in the bathroom pours out the door left ajar, creating a streak that ends on the end on the bed, and with both this light, the dimmed ceiling light, and the glow of the TV, the room is bright enough to drink, eat, and walk around without risking any incidents.

If the lighting is anything other than movie-ready, it's romantic.

Harvey returns to the bed, settles down, and cracks open the other beer, so I start the movie and scoot to the top of the bed. He lifts the bowl of popcorn and opens his arm for me. I smile modestly and nestle against his bare chest, careful not to spill my drink. As usual, he's warm to the touch. He sets the popcorn on his lap and takes a handful as the first scene of The Breakfast Club starts.