Amber stirred; part of her recognized the ring of her phone and she instinctively moved to pick it up. But the noise was gone as quickly as it'd started, so she slumped back into bed, still skirting the border of consciousness. Felt good. Soft. Snug. Smooth. Her muscles, still stretched and aching pleasurably from her bout their morning sex, thanked her for a bit more relaxation.
But slowly another sound filtered in: a voice. Eric's. Amber frowned, confused by her sleepiness. Was he talking to himself? Was this a dream? No one else was speaking-- There were long pauses between his murmurs, no other voices filling in those silences. He was on the phone. With whom? Must be on his cell phone.
The longer he talked, the more awake Amber became, her eyes gradually blinking open against the light. And the more she awoke, the more she felt the stickiness of her skin, the mess of her hair; her stomach complained too, and she felt light-headed from hunger. Sleeping in was well and all, but Amber wasn't going to waste a whole day in bed.
So she got up, dressing herself in a new set of sweats and slippers, and padded out to her living room. She caught Eric hanging up the phone-- but it was hers. That wasn't right. What was he doing, holding extended conversations on someone who'd called her home?
He was in one of his workout outfits, pits stained with sweat, and the laces on his sneakers loose like they hadn't just been tied. More than that, he sat shell-shocked like he couldn't believe what he'd just been through. His glare at the phone had been sullen, resentful. That was all Amber needed to put the pieces together. "Oh god," she groaned, holding a hand to her forehead, "you just talked to my mother, didn't you." Saturday morning, it was one of her favorite times to call and with Thanksgiving coming up, of course she'd be looking to interrogate Amber about arrival details and possible plus ones. Her mom was hard to deal with at the best of times; Amber could only imagine how it was for Eric, out of nowhere, to have to face her before the biggest family event of the year. She walked towards Eric, sitting down next to him. "Sorry, she’s awful to everyone not called Geoffrey. What did she say?"
no subject
But slowly another sound filtered in: a voice. Eric's. Amber frowned, confused by her sleepiness. Was he talking to himself? Was this a dream? No one else was speaking-- There were long pauses between his murmurs, no other voices filling in those silences. He was on the phone. With whom? Must be on his cell phone.
The longer he talked, the more awake Amber became, her eyes gradually blinking open against the light. And the more she awoke, the more she felt the stickiness of her skin, the mess of her hair; her stomach complained too, and she felt light-headed from hunger. Sleeping in was well and all, but Amber wasn't going to waste a whole day in bed.
So she got up, dressing herself in a new set of sweats and slippers, and padded out to her living room. She caught Eric hanging up the phone-- but it was hers. That wasn't right. What was he doing, holding extended conversations on someone who'd called her home?
He was in one of his workout outfits, pits stained with sweat, and the laces on his sneakers loose like they hadn't just been tied. More than that, he sat shell-shocked like he couldn't believe what he'd just been through. His glare at the phone had been sullen, resentful. That was all Amber needed to put the pieces together. "Oh god," she groaned, holding a hand to her forehead, "you just talked to my mother, didn't you." Saturday morning, it was one of her favorite times to call and with Thanksgiving coming up, of course she'd be looking to interrogate Amber about arrival details and possible plus ones. Her mom was hard to deal with at the best of times; Amber could only imagine how it was for Eric, out of nowhere, to have to face her before the biggest family event of the year. She walked towards Eric, sitting down next to him. "Sorry, she’s awful to everyone not called Geoffrey. What did she say?"