Dragan's comfort is such that he arrives an hour early just as I pull up my driveway, sweaty and flushed from a run. I bounce out of the car with a "Hello, Bossy! Here already?" The question doesn't daunt him, and I'm wondering if this was his way of shifting himself from someone I'm "seeing" to "official boyfriend who can come round whenever". He eyes my hot pink towel shorts, the wispy steamed tendrils of hair and hugs me anyway, as if he wanted to try out the glistening gym version. Surprising, considering how stringent his post-coital hygienics had been. Maybe the comfort zone is a spectrum, dare I hope that this may later manifest itself in the bedroom? I notice him riveted by my bottom as I run up the stairs. Hmm, promising.
The festival is a slice of longed for summer. The day is so crisp and lush, we cannot help but attack it with relish. Revving the engine up, I give Dragan a conspiratorial smile and ask,"You up for discovering LA, Bossy?"