Page 69 of Carnal Games

It’s barely five o’clock!

Placing it back, I throw the sheets off and sit up.

The faint lyrics switch to something even more upbeat. Instead of marching across the hall to bang on her door until she shuts off the damn thing, I stroll into the bathroom to get started on my day.

The exact opposite of what she obviously wants. It’s as if she’s turned the tables on me by throwing down an ultimatum last night. Either I give in to her demand or she’ll keep pestering me indirectly and in the most annoying ways.

Stepping under the shower spray, I quickly soap and rinse myself with the sole intent of leaving for work within the next half hour. In the closet, I snatch the first suit I see and wear it in a minute flat. Skipping breakfast and coffee in the kitchen, I shoot my assistant, Arjun, a text to have them both at my desk. Grabbing the car keys in the foyer, I exit my apartment and pull up short.

If I thought the music was loud inside, it’s nothing compared to the hallway.

The culprit—the wide-open front door.

Christ! What is with her and leaving doors unlocked?

Instead of leaving right away like it was my goal, I hover near my apartment.

Go in the elevator and leave.

Your neighbor isn’t your concern.

Do I listen to the warning in my head? No. I march right across the hall. Rather than barging in, I pause outside the door and ring the doorbell.

Some Spanish song’s lyrics echoes to me.

First the headphones, now speakers. The doorbell might as well be a decoration. I still try a second time. Crickets are all I hear.

Fuck this.

I storm into inside.

The luxurious fragrance of strawberries and roses stronger than last night hits my nostrils, momentarily faltering my stride. As though, she sprayed every corner of the apartment with her perfume.

Morning light pours in from the windows she’s left open, basking the place in a warm glow. I search for her in the drawing room and I’m heading for the kitchen when from the corner of my eye, bright pink color catches my attention.

Twisting around, I look past the living room and into the balcony.

Immediately wishing I should’ve listened to my brain.

In the middle of the gallery, is a bent-over Iris with her round ass in the air on a mat doing yoga. The last activity I envisioned her to be doing. I had expected another dancing routine.

Why am I disappointed?

If there’s a God, He doesn’t bestow me any mercy, because in the next breath, the little siren begins to stretch her legs lower to the ground, tortuously slow as if she is aware I’m watching.

She does an effortless split and holds the position for a good long minute while I’m riveted, speechless, and fighting a raging hard-on for my brother’s fiancée.

No woman, and I’ve been around some of the most beautiful ones in the world, has affected me this deeply. Enough to stop me in my tracks. To keep bringing me back.

It’s unsettling.

I should leave before she sees me. But again, I’m powerless.

Never will I be able to get this image out of my head.

Last night, the clothes she wore were loosely fitted. Today, she’s chosen a bright pink sports bra and matching leggings that look painted on her skin. Such a simple outfit, yet it’s anything but.

She’s shining so bright, men walking down on the street could see her.

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