Me, The Mosquito and My Husband... one big happy family

Sometimes, my husband thinks that spending time with me is like watching paint dry (boring), except without the home improvement.
I would have to agree with him because if I’m engrossed with a book I act, and behave, like a zombie.
If he talks to me at some point and says:
“Can I ask you something?”
I can surely answer:
“Is ‘no’ an option?”
I mean, it’s the end of the book… or the beginning (who cares?), the point is that I’m busy.
If I’m at the moment where I don’t know if the hero is going to get the damsel in distress, I cannot possibly concentrate in anything else… right?
That’s how we start... badly… and then, progress to worse because my lack of attention on anything else rather than passing the pages gets him extremely annoyed.
So I lift my eyes from the book, cough a bit to add some drama to the scene, and force my face into a mask of penitence (which wouldn’t have fooled even the most incompetent of mind readers) and I try to show repentance for my absent of interest for anything other than my story.
In my head, however, I’m still plotting with the writer for future outcomes for the book.
He doesn’t need to know that I’m still “reading” though, so my “interested” face stays on for the duration of the chastisement; and my brain is all over the place, paying zero attention to what’s coming out of his mouth.
He knows that I’ll get him when he’s studying.
I’ll pick the moment when he’s most concentrated in his lesson to unleash “the mosquito”, the nickname that I gave to my Pestering-Self-Mode; that annoying needy creature that clings over you relentlessly and with no mercy.
I’m more capable than a mind reader in perceiving deception, so if by any point he tries to pull a “mask of penitence” on me, I’ll catch him in-fraganti.
Next time, he would restrain himself before saying anything other than:
“Honey, do you want anything to read?”