Beg For It
And part of me didn’t want to analyze it too hard, in case it dissolved under too much scrutiny.
But part of me also needed to ask questions.
That afternoon, I found him in the backroom, unpacking a new batch of sculpture pieces. He looked up when I entered, sleeves rolled, shirt clinging faintly to his chest in the humid warehouse air.
“I didn’t ask you to move the Luxe interview.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said without looking up. “You hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Figured the press could wait until you remembered how to chew.”
I folded my arms. “You don’t get to babysit me.”