The Five Times It’s Okay to Interrupt Someone’s Reading

They, you, or the house is on fire.

They’re in the path of a tornado.

Alien invasion.

Chris Hemsworth has entered the room.

Or, this:

I came home one night after a gig and found Quint sitting up in bed, reading a book with a spaceship on the cover. “You’re up late,” I said, surprised. We don’t usually wait for each other to get home after ten. The Importance of Sleep and all that.

“Mmh,” Quint replied, his eyes never leaving the book. His voice came out soft and unfocused. “Don’t need… to be at work, uh, early.”

I stripped my shirt over my head as I went into the bathroom. After giving my teeth the most cursory of brushings, I unbuttoned my jeans and held onto the doorjamb for balance as I peeled off my socks one by one. “It was a good gig. I got lots of tips.”

“That’s nice, angel,” Quint said. He turned a page.

Rolling my eyes, I went to drop my clothes in the closet hamper and opened my dresser drawer for a clean pair of boxers. Then, inspired, called over my shoulder, “Also, some girl threw her panties at me. Red thong. I kept them. Seemed rude to leave them on the floor, y’know?”

“…Mm-hm.”

Well, humph.

I shut the drawer a bit louder than needed and discovered, as I stepped into the bedroom once more, that even that had not broken through Quint’s fog of reading. Something needed to be done here.

Rounding the bed, I stopped next to his nightstand and looked down at him with my hands on my hips. “Quint, I am a Brat in need of attention. You are entirely responsible for what happens next.”

Slowly, his head lifted. Along with his eyebrows. “Am I?” he asked, and his voice was still soft, yet much more focused. I began to question the wisdom of throwing down a gauntlet wearing only my pizza-printed boxer shorts.

“Y-yes.”

“I see. Well, in that case…”

He picked up his bookmark from the nightstand, carefully inserted it between the pages, and set the book down. A warning tingle skittered all over my back. My weight shifted in preparation to flee, but I never got the chance. His arm was around my waist in an instant, and in one sharp tug, I landed half on him and half on the bed. Then another disorienting yank, and he rolled on top of me, pinning me to the mattress with his hips and his mouth. My yelp faded to a moan.

We both, sadly, require oxygen to live, so he had to break off the kiss eventually. His lips quirked as he caught his breath. “A red thong?”

I grinned and shook my head. “Kidding.” Then, arching to feel the weight of him on me, I added, “It was black.”