"Yes," Wendy responded, but she had chipmunk cheeks because she'd stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Chubby bunny. Then she swallowed, a pink flush rising to the occasion on her face. "Very much so, with doing each other's nails. And hair. You're lucky I don't have you trying a French braid on me. Do you know how to do one?" Sometimes men were actually better at those too, for some reason.
The press of James's thumbs felt pleasant, quite nice actually, and she sighed, relaxing into a puddle of limbs and leaning against his headboard. He'd changed the sheets and put extra fancy ones on, that she noticed. How very sweet of him.
Then she reached for her phone, which was in the depths of her bag, a stretch of her arm to get it. "We also have to do stupid things, so now I'm going to tell you which historical couple we are, according to Buzzfeed. Question one...how did we meet? Oh, that's easy...we work in the same industry," she checked off the box. "What's my biggest turn on? Hm...oh, good manners certainly." That one was easy too! "Select a Kesha lyric...this one's got to be 'your love, your love, your love is my drug.'"