Page 93 of Zimyra

“You can’t postpone it?”

“No. I’m already scheduled, but it’s cool. I’m going to do the best I can. That’s all Icando.”

I set my plate on the table and finish the lemonade. “Ah. I’m good and full now. I need to burn some of this off.”

I stand up and push the coffee table out of the way. Then I use the space to start doing pushups.

“Seriously, Axel? No days off, huh?”

“None.”

“You could wait until you get home for all that.”

“I’m not going home tonight. I’m staying with you.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” I answer while steadily doing these pushups, moving my body up and down with little effort. My muscles are trained and ready for whatever. “I have some extra clothes in the car.”

“Oh, so this was your plan all along, huh?”

“No.”

“Then why do you have clothes in the car?”

I stop doing pushups, look at her, and respond, “In case you needed me again tonight. I wanted to be ready and available for you.”

“I never said I needed you to stay with me tonight.”

“You don’t have to. Your eyes say a lot. They like talking to me.”

She forces a smile back, her eyes lingering and holding my gaze before she stands and collects our plates. After placing them in the sink and washing them immediately, she rinses them off and puts them on the drying rack. Then she returns to the living room and lies on the sofa. I get off the floor and sit on the opposite end near her feet. While she channel surfs, I lift her legs and then scoot over, lowering them onto my lap. Then I grip and squeeze her feet, prompting her to move and raise her hips off the sofa.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she squirms. “Stop that.”

“No. These virgin feet are mine.”

“See, I knew I shouldn’t have told you all my personal business.”

“No, you should have. It helps me understand you better.”

I continue rubbing her feet, tracing the stars on her ankle and watching her fidget. She can’t focus on the TV any longer. She’s still trying to do everything to contain the fact that I’m touching her. It still baffles me that she hasn’t had a man rub these pretty feet. Suck her toes. Nibble on her neck. Or bend her over a table.

Caught up in my daydreams, I didn’t realize she had stopped moving. I look at her face and she’s out.

I squeeze her ankle and say, “Myra.”

She doesn’t budge.

“Myra?” I say, sliding my hand up her leg to her calves. I squeeze again.

She stirs, then her eyes open. She says. “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You need your rest. I just want you over here.”

I stretch my arms open wide, luring her into my embrace. She hesitates at first, and I’m not sure why. She knows it’s where she wants to be. Where she feels safe.

“My arms are getting heavy, sweetheart. Make your move.”

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