Reading to my birdie

The other night, I had Aleister Growley out of his cage. He's a very dominant (borderline mean) parrot, but he and I get along really well.

Him and other people, not as well. Meaning closed doors and us alone.

So I was sitting next to him, reading from Keila 3 as I did some edits. Aleister enjoyed the attention, I was working on my book, and, apparently, my husband was outside the door listening to me.

For a while.

I got shy and blushed, because that's what I do. This wasn't exactly normal behavior for him, so I needed to know why.

"Because you sound incredible when you read." More blushing on my part. "And I wanted to hear you talk dirty." ...