“Oh, good grief, Sir Guy, I think my insides have been turned out,” Ladywriter groaned as she fell back against the pillows, gingerly stroking her tummy.
“Ahhhh, and not in a good way, I fear,” the Dark Knight murmured. He raised one quizzical brow and proceeded to prop his glossy black boots on the bed railing as he leaned back in the chair, arms characteristically folded across his broad chest.
“When is it ever?” LW groaned. She’d woken up in the wee hours hungry after missing a couple of meals the day before, and now had paid the price for that peanut butter and banana sandwich, followed by a fun size Twix bar. So much for fun.
It had tasted good at the time . . . cursed Irritable Bowel Syndrome!
“Well . . . I have been known to do unusual things to ladies’ insides,” Sir Guy drawled, that devilish gleam in his kohl-rimmed blue eyes teasing her.
A gimlet-eyed Ladywriter snorted and threw a pillow at him, which he nimbly caught and then tossed aside. His eyes softened and, setting his boots on the carpet, he leaned forward to take LW’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Forgive me, dearest LW. I cannot resist being playful with my favorite queen of her own alternate universe . . . truly, shall I bring you something to give you comfort?”
“A Coke on ice–lots of ice. And–we could just sit and talk for a while . . . it’s been a difficult week, Sir Guy.” LW gave a little sigh and smiled up into those beautiful azure eyes. “I’ve missed you, my favorite hot velveteen henchman.”
He returned her smile, and she did feel a curious sensation–butterflies in her stomach?–that was a definite improvement on her earlier condition.
Oh, the effect you do have on us, my beautiful Gisborne.
“Of course you’ve missed me, and I, you.” Sir Guy pressed a kiss to the palm and then the back of her hand. “I am forever yours.”
And forever, Friday will be—Guyday in the kingdom of Lady Writer.
It’s Guyday Friday!!