Page 100 of Not That Ridiculous

“Okay.” He leaned over the side of the bed and I took a moment to appreciate the length of his strong back, the flex of his bicep, and that lovely round arse. He plucked a couple of tissues out of the box on my bedside table, used them to pick up and wrap the condom, and straightened. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

His helpfulness ended there, and he watched with interest and didnotmove as I did my best to work my way out from between his thick thighs, scoot up the bed, and scramble off the other side. The mattress squeaked as he flung himself flat on it and stretched out long, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under his head.

I rushed out and down the landing to the bathroom.

I’d had sex.

I stared at myself in the mirror. “You had sex,” I mouthed silently.

Bright splashes of colour stained my cheeks and ran down my neck to my chest. My hair looked like it had been rubbed with a balloon. My grey-green eyes were red-rimmed and bulging a bit. But…I looked happy.

I was happy.

I wasn’t going to waste time hanging out in the bathroom having a conversation with myself about it when I could be hanging out in my bedroom having a conversation with naked Kevin Wallis, but I did seize the opportunity to splash my face with cold water and whisk a damp cloth over the pertinent areas. I grabbed a clean cloth from the cabinet under the sink, wetted it, and took it out to Kevin.

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to prevent him from seeing my bathroom, but there was nothing wrong with putting the inevitable outrage off as long as I could. Besides, I wanted to be back in bed with him. I wanted to have him drag me about and wrap his big arms around me.

I did my best to saunter into my room with a sexy swagger, but the effort was wasted. Kevin wasn’t facing the door, and he paid me no attention whatsoever.

He was standing by the wall opposite the end of the bed, with his hands on his hips and his head to one side. His phone was lying on the mattress.

“What are you doing?” I went over to him and held out the washcloth. “Here.”

He grunted his thanks and took the cloth off me without looking away from the wall. His eyebrows were pinched together in a small frown. He wiped himself down quickly and efficiently, and handed the cloth back.

“Kevin?” I prompted.

“Wall’s wrong,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Does it look right to you?” He went over and skimmed a hand over the dingy yellow paint, long fingers spread wide.

“Yes? How could it look wrong? It’s a wall.”

“The dimensions of the room are off.”

“Okay.” When he didn’t say anything else, I added, “Off how?”

“There’s a couple of feet missing. This wall is too far forwards. It’s deeper than it should be.”

“How did you even notice that?”

“I was just lying there, waiting for you to come back and sit on my dick again?—”

My stomach dropped at the casual way he said it.

“—and I started looking at the wall, and I dunno…it doesn’t feel right. You know?”

“No.”

He ran his hand up and down the wall. I didn’t know what he was looking for. I also didn’t know how long it had been since this room got a fresh coat of paint. I was willing to guess a good thirty or forty years, if not longer. He’d have to wash his hands before he put them anywhere interesting. I didn’t want chemicals from the seventies or eighties up my butt, thanks.

He pressed against the wall, made a thoughtful sound, slid a few inches to the left and tapped.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

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