Fifty-nine

"Good. What kept you busy on Tuesday?" Josh asks.

"Chores," I say with a laugh.

It’s the way he says it, his accent seeps into his words, makes it come off as Chewsday. My hand goes over my mouth to muffle my laughter, his brow arches and his hazel eyes tinged with gold flecks rake over me. The distance between us gives me a chance to analyse his features all over again, my head falls to one side as I drink in the sight of him.

He runs his fingers through his brown hair which falls over his forehead at intervals and I chuckle, he never uses gel, he likes his hair untamed. His lips are surprisingly full, pink and pouty, just like Brandon’s. At the thought of him, I let out a sigh, stopping myself from further comparing him with my dark chocolate loving husband. It’s a new habit I formed subconsciously, sometimes, it’s the look or the attitude I compare when I see pictures and videos of other men. In the end, Brandon always wins. He’s the best for me.