'April 5, 2280 It’s our anniversary today, and Craig and I had the loveliest dinner—for once I didn’t burn anything, haha. I wore my new dress and did my hair up in braids; I think Craig liked it because he couldn’t take his eyes off of me for the whole evening.'
Arcade forced himself to stop reading, feeling more than a little guilty for this invasion of privacy. I mean, if Boone came back to discover Arcade reading his dead wife’s diary—good lord. The mind boggles at the violence that would ensue. But then again… the devious part of Arcade’s mind whispered that one entry couldn’t hurt, and he’d never get another glimpse into Boone’s past like this. Pushing his glasses up his nose indecisively, Arcade reasoned that Carla would want him to read her diary, if only for the sake of getting to know Boone better so that they could be friends. Cara would want Boone to make friends, wouldn’t she?
Of course she would, Boone affirmed. He was pretty good at convincing himself when he put his mind to it. He skimmed on, reading all about their dinner. Things got quite interesting during desert, when Carla apparently took a pan of melted chocolate off of the stove and—and at least Arcade had the good decency to blush as he read about Carla and Boone’s sex life. But he didn’t blush too much; he’d done his share of voyeuring in his day and he’d seen much kinkier than this. The entry was interesting, but what really caught his eye was the final paragraph.
'All in all, I think he enjoyed his anniversary present. But I got a little surprise of my own, as well. Afterwards, Craig and I lay in bed being lovey-dovey. We were both being quite silly; he was insisting that he was going to wear his glasses and beret to dinner with my mother next week, and I told him if he did that I’d have to tie him up and tickle him to death. I tickled him on the ribs as a warning and Craig gave the most unmanly squawk I’ve ever heard and leapt a foot of the mattress. Could it be that my dear Craig Boone is deathly ticklish? I’m thinking that this requires further investigation.'
Arcade snapped the book shut before he was tempted to flip to the next entry, and nestled it back in the bottom of the duffle bag. He zipped the bag shut and changed his shirt with a distracted air, mulling this new information over. Craig Boone, ticklish? The imagination fails at all the ways this could be delightful exploited.
Had A Bad Day? (1b)
It’s our anniversary today, and Craig and I had the loveliest dinner—for once I didn’t burn anything, haha. I wore my new dress and did my hair up in braids; I think Craig liked it because he couldn’t take his eyes off of me for the whole evening.'
Arcade forced himself to stop reading, feeling more than a little guilty for this invasion of privacy. I mean, if Boone came back to discover Arcade reading his dead wife’s diary—good lord. The mind boggles at the violence that would ensue. But then again… the devious part of Arcade’s mind whispered that one entry couldn’t hurt, and he’d never get another glimpse into Boone’s past like this. Pushing his glasses up his nose indecisively, Arcade reasoned that Carla would want him to read her diary, if only for the sake of getting to know Boone better so that they could be friends. Cara would want Boone to make friends, wouldn’t she?
Of course she would, Boone affirmed. He was pretty good at convincing himself when he put his mind to it. He skimmed on, reading all about their dinner. Things got quite interesting during desert, when Carla apparently took a pan of melted chocolate off of the stove and—and at least Arcade had the good decency to blush as he read about Carla and Boone’s sex life. But he didn’t blush too much; he’d done his share of voyeuring in his day and he’d seen much kinkier than this. The entry was interesting, but what really caught his eye was the final paragraph.
'All in all, I think he enjoyed his anniversary present. But I got a little surprise of my own, as well. Afterwards, Craig and I lay in bed being lovey-dovey. We were both being quite silly; he was insisting that he was going to wear his glasses and beret to dinner with my mother next week, and I told him if he did that I’d have to tie him up and tickle him to death. I tickled him on the ribs as a warning and Craig gave the most unmanly squawk I’ve ever heard and leapt a foot of the mattress. Could it be that my dear Craig Boone is deathly ticklish? I’m thinking that this requires further investigation.'
Arcade snapped the book shut before he was tempted to flip to the next entry, and nestled it back in the bottom of the duffle bag. He zipped the bag shut and changed his shirt with a distracted air, mulling this new information over. Craig Boone, ticklish? The imagination fails at all the ways this could be delightful exploited.
[A/N To be continued...]