From my world building notebook for Your Little Sister:
Her lover is punctual, showing up at her doorstep the very minute she requested his presence.
If she told him, “Come over for dinner at 7:00,” sure enough, at 7:00 PM the bell would ring, and there he would be, all smiles and handsome and holding a bottle of wine.
Other than his spooky knack at punctuality, her lover was a free spirit. He was malleable in many areas. Where they went, when they went out, was her purview. One time she tested him and scheduled a chick flick, then the next date the opera, and finally, a book reading and signing for some sappy book. He enjoyed each and was charming and gracious to everyone he met.
She would have considered him one of those ‘yes’ men that would say ‘yes’ to anything as long as the end of the date he was between her legs. He had absolutes that seemed to absolve him from a limp-noodle nice guy label. For instance, he disliked driving, and he would grump like a spoiled brat when she made him. He did not eat sweet things—he avoided sugar. He had the habit of rubbing his head when he was nervous, which was rare, but he did do it, it was somewhat cute.
One time, he called her to see if she could pick up soup for him. He was sick. She lived in his small apartment for three days, nursing him back to health. He was not infallible, but he seemed strange in a way, as if his life was perfect with not an unhappy thought in his head. For a living, he was a hotel manager, which seemed to suit him well. He loved people.
She envied his life outlook—a simple man, with simple needs. When they made love, he was simultaneously generous and needy. He had a keen sense of pushing her buttons until she was mindlessly moaning and panting. The man was definitely addictive in that regard, his timing was near perfect.
Which is why, when she overslept from her nap, she was very surprised that he did not wake her up by ringing the bell, or calling her if she did not hear it.
This worried her, but she was not prone to panic, merely a frown aimed at herself in the mirror as she quickly took a shower and got dressed. The moment she turned off the hairdryer and decided to call him, the doorbell rang, and she jumped. Goosebumps appeared on her arm, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand out, and then she actually shuddered.
She peeked out the peephole and there he was. She opened the door and smiled as he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you psychic?” It was a silly question, but she had to ask.
He actually laughed at her, a warm laugh, both inviting and infuriating.
“Well, how did you know I overslept from my nap?”
He came in and closed the door. “That would be because you are the one that is psychic.”
“Yes. You. You broadcasted your desire to meet later, so I simply showed up later.”
Now she giggled. “You’re being silly.”
“Hey, when you think things, I am powerless to resist your superior mind powers.”
“Bah! Isn’t that something like love?”
“Of course it is, and I do love you. I have for quite some time, but have been too afraid to say it. But your obvious powers of psychic manipulation propel me to confess my true feelings for you.”
She opened her mouth and subsequently was speechless, so she closed it rather than stand there looking like a dork. She threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, I love you too, you silly man!”
Later, after the sweaty love making they skipped dinner for, in her dark bedroom filled with the earthy smell of sex, she suddenly realized he was serious. She rolled over and smacked him.
“Ow!” he said, coming awake. “What was that for?”
“I am not psychic!”
“Whatever,” he said, rolling over and putting his head under his pillow. He did that when she wore him out and he wanted to sleep.
She lay there contemplating his snarkitude.
Why don’t you roll back over and make love to me again, she thought at him, feeling stupid, but putting every ounce of desire she had for him into her thought.
When he rolled over and cupped her breast, it was then she knew she was in trouble.