28. Adrian
CHAPTER 28
ADRIAN
I don’t know what they call any of the clothing items Jane has on, but I want to rip each and every one of them into little shreds, then do to her exactly what she suggested a few hours ago.
But I can’t.
Shouldn’t.
I had good reasons when I declined, and if Yoda ever lets the blood return to my brain, I’m sure I’ll remember what those reasons were.
“Speaking of Bridgerton ,” Jane says. “We should watch it later.”
I hope this means she isn’t mad at me any longer. Then again, she likes that show enough to watch it with Hitler. Either way, I agree. Then, very casually, I ask, “Will you still be wearing that outfit when we do?”
If so, I’d better pregame Yoda and take a cold shower, just in case.
Is that a smirk on Jane’s face when she considers my question?
Nah. That would make no sense.
Finally, she shakes her head. “This outfit is too starchy to walk in, let alone sit on a couch in.”
Thank the Force, Yoda will.
“I dressed this way because I wanted to make that extra million dollars,” Jane adds, sounding oddly guilty.
“You’ll get your money,” I reassure her. It will be well spent because it’s not every day you get a paradigm shift. Until this moment, I didn’t think Victorian women could possibly have been sexy. On top of being prim and prudish, they didn’t have showers and covered every inch of their bodies. Now, though, I wish Jane and I could do some roleplaying, with her as a lady and me a?—
“Okay,” Jane says. “Get back to your workout.”
With a shrug, I do, though I see in the mirror that she doesn’t leave—probably because she wants to know how to use all the equipment when it comes time for her to exercise. To that end, I know the polite thing would be to offer to work out together, but I don’t think I’ll manage that without a serious case of blue balls.
So I work my back as I usually would, then triceps, and just as I finish the last set, Jane sneaks out.
Hmm. I look at Leo, who wakes up from his twentieth nap of the day.
“Did Jane think I didn’t know she was there the whole time?” I ask him.
Leo cocks his head.
Humans overcomplicate things. Pretend she’s a poodle in heat and just mount her. Smooth as non-crunchy peanut butter.
I head into the shower and do some Yoda Yoga on the off-chance Jane forgets to change. And boy, am I glad that I took that precaution because when I meet Jane in the living room, she’s wearing an outfit that’s even hotter than the last, with lots of very lickable pale skin exposed.
“I changed,” she says when she notices me staring at her. “As you requested.”
Not exactly as I requested, but it’s not like I can tell her that.
“Let’s watch,” I say and plop on the couch.
She sits next to me, and we start to Netflix—with me being anything but chill. In fact, being with Jane like this is very hard—in many senses of the word. I can’t wait until the show is over so I can have some alone time with Yoda. Again.
“What do you think?” Jane asks when the credits roll on season two.
“I think I know why Victorians had all those strict sex-related rules.”
Shit. Bad topic.
“Religion?” Jane asks, focusing all her attention on me.
I shake my head. “Lack of internet and therefore porn.”
Oops. Seriously, I usually have more of a filter between my mouth and my brain.
Jane narrows her eyes slightly and styles her left eyebrow into a question mark.
“Without porn, there would’ve been less masturbation,” I explain, because I’m committed to this now. “Without masturbation, people got that much hornier. Hence men going crazy upon seeing a flash of an ankle.”
Speaking of ankles, Jane’s are extremely dainty and pretty, making me wonder if kissing them would?—
“Few people really used the internet before the early nineties,” Jane counters. “Yet there was all that free love business in the sixties.”
“Sure, but there was porn by then,” I say, sounding less sure of myself. “On tapes, or as pictures before that.”
“They had porn as pictures in Victorian times,” Jane says triumphantly. “So there goes your theory.”
Hmm. Didn’t they have to pose for hours for pictures back then? I bet the poor girls would get cold sitting naked for that long. Still, Jane’s got a point. Seems like masturbation isn’t the key to everything , even if it seems to be at the moment.
Clouding my judgement, Yoda is.
Jane stands up, treating me to a view of her shapely legs. “Good night.”
With that, she sashays away, leaving me to sit and wait until Yoda calms down enough for me to be able to walk.
The next day, I pick up Jane to go to City Hall. The whole time, all she talks to me about is the weather. So much for my hope that she was no longer mad about my refusal of her generous offer.
To be honest, I’m mad at myself too. Maybe we could make it work somehow. Maybe the risk isn’t so great.
No.
Must stay strong.
Besides, Jane likely felt insulted, so she’s unlikely to give me another chance at her GD.
To prove that last point, on the way back, the weather is still the main topic.
To test the waters, I say, “The forecast is particularly nice for tomorrow. Would you like to have another picnic?”
She purses her lips. “Big day at the library. I doubt I’ll be able to get away.”
Translation: she’s definitely still mad at me. Judging by her reaction the last time, picnics are her catnip.
“Fair enough,” I say. Before we can get back to discussing wind speeds, humidity, or the UV index, I add, “I’ve settled on a date for the wedding.” In truth, I haven’t heard from my people yet, but I want to seal the deal before Jane decides she is so upset about the GD refusal that she wants to back out.
“Oh,” Jane says without any enthusiasm. “When is the big day?”
“The first Saturday of next month,” I say, figuring that’s the soonest the event organizer can put a wedding together. “Is that going to be enough time for you to invite whoever you want to be at the ceremony?”
She frowns. “Do I have to invite anyone?”
“I guess not, but this is supposed to look like a real wedding.”
She sighs. “You’re right. Besides, Grandma would not forgive me if she didn’t get an invite.”
“We have a planner,” I say. “She’ll take care of things like invites. Just email me the names and addresses of your peeps.”
Jane pulls up her phone, compiles a list, and sends it to me. I pass it on to the planner and try to strike up a real conversation with Jane, only to end up talking about the weather again.
When Jane comes home that night, she changes into yoga pants and a sports bra that drive me insane, so I’m almost glad when she tells me she doesn’t want to watch TV together. It would have been exquisite torture if she’d said yes.
Still, her refusal proves beyond a shadow of doubt that she’s upset with me—and only joined me last night because we still had Bridgerton season two to finish. Now that that’s over, she’s too pissed at me to watch anything else.
Hmm. I wonder how much it would cost to pay Netflix to speed up the shooting of the next season. Jane wouldn’t be able to resist that…
I look it up. They paid seven million per episode. I could afford that. Then again…
A germline of an idea springs to life.
What if I made my own show, one a lot like Bridgerton ? Better yet, why not make it a movie? There aren’t a lot of very good historical romance films on the market. If it does well, it could always be spun off into a show. More importantly, Jane wouldn’t be able to resist talking about it with me.
Excited, I go to my studio and start my research.
By the following day, my relationship with Jane still hasn’t improved. She doesn’t want to spend time with me, though she is wearing another Victorian outfit that drives me insane.
Speaking of Victorian things, since my Bridgerton knock-off movie is in its infant stage, I don’t mention it to her just yet. I have a lot more work to do before it’s anything worth discussing. In fact, now that I’ve started, a part of me wants to keep it a secret, and just show her the finished product when I’m done. Either way, the movie is what I focus on over the next week, given that Jane is determined to avoid me.
She’s clearly still upset with me. However, we do have snippets of conversation here and there, and when Piper comes over, Jane does spend time with us—which makes me regret my GD refusal all the more.
She wasn’t bragging when she said she’s good with babies.
“You sweet little thing,” she coos, rocking Piper back and forth as my daughter grabs her hair with her chubby little fist. “Let’s burp you and make you feel better, why don’t we?”
And as I watch in amazement, my fussy baby smiles at her angelically and lets out a very ladylike burp, somehow keeping down all of her milk in the process.
Seriously, is Jane a baby whisperer or what?
Piper either refuses to burp with me properly, or I get thrown up on half the time.
“You need to teach me how to do that,” I say as Jane hands my daughter—fed, burped, and changed—back to me. “There’s a trick to this, right?”
She grins. “Yes, and it’s having a much younger sister and a mom who insists you babysit. Here, let me show you.”
She demonstrates her technique on a teddy bear, and I imprint it into my memory—as I do everything Jane-related these days. I simply can’t get her off my mind, and not just because by the week before the wedding, Yoda is ready to join the dark side of the Force thanks to her outfits, which are ridiculously sexy even when they’re not Victorian.
Aren’t librarians supposed to dress all boring? Because mine does not.
My new project doesn’t help. In order to better understand the historical romance genre, I’ve purchased a bunch of books that Jane likes and have been binge-reading them. Turns out, these books are chockfull of sexy scenes, most of which feature a virginal heroine.
Yes. That’s right.
I refused to partake in a GD, and now I’m reading all about them—an activity that has a similar effect on me as reading cookbooks would on a starving man.