The Writer Makes A Proposal

I took in grateful (and greedy) gulps of oxygen as my line of sight merged into a single outline again.

“What the Hell, Raine?” I asked, massaging my bruised throat. “You acted like I was going to kill you!”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out, and there was a thump as he knelt beside me. “Did I hold too tight?”

“No, laddie,” I said, slightly increasing my natural accent, “ye did jus’ fine…at mounting me up like a moose head!”

“Look, I already apologized.”

“Yes,” I coughed, nodding enthusiastically, “that’ll excuse you from anything!”

“Will you quit with the sarcasm and tell me if you’re actually alright?!”

I flinched inwardly at the tone of his voice. Not only did he sound agitated, he sounded concerned. There sure was more than meets the eye with this piece of work here.

“I’m fine,” I rasped, “although I think I’ll have a lovely choker necklace in the morning.”

He groaned, and ruffled his own hair.

“Which brings me to my next point…have you ever wanted to visit Ireland?”

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