Page 28 of Dravin

She tries not to look disturbed at being left all alone, but she clutches her hands awkwardly in front of her and pivots onto the toes of her black leather ankle boots. She looks everywhere except at me. Her eyes snag on the pinball machines in the corner by the entrance and she walks over, forcing herself to move slow and casual, like she’s not tremendously uncomfortable and adrift.

I leave Grave mid-sentence, going on about his truck, but he doesn’t stop talking, he just turns his attention to his brother, who apparently likes having his brain numbed.

I don’t like the heated stares that follow me as my boots tread over the worn hardwood. I like the way the prospects zero in on Kael even less. Halfway to the pinball machines, I let them have a foul stare, warning them off. It works, at least temporarily. They turn their attention back to the women giggling and flirting at their booth.

Kael is plugging coins into a games machine that features monsters from all different horror movies and books. I lean up against the other, a biker thing that doesn’t look nearly as interesting. There are several beside it, flashing their lights on and off in the darkened corner obnoxiously. They skate overKael’s face, highlighting her perfect pale skin, deepening the contours of her face, deepening the sultry red of her lips, and casting starry gold flecks in her honey eyes.

Wait.

“Are you wearing contacts?”

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she focuses on her game, mashing the buttons and sending the little silver ball pinging around the machine. It rewards her with another volley of flashing lights.

“Calliope.”

She continues to ignore me, but her knuckles whiten on the edges of the machine.

“That’s not the name on your ID.”

“You have a new name. Why can’t I? Giant Dick. It’s quite…inventive, although I personally think that some alliteration would have livened things up. Dynamic Dick, for example, just has a nice ring to it. Or Proportional Peen. That one’s quite alliterative.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s not the name I’m taking. Everything they came up with was ridiculous. And Calliope isn’t a new name, you know what we agreed.”

“So what are you going to pick then?” she says, ignoring what I said.

“I don’t know. There’s time.”

“How about Soldier? Hunter? Stalker? Wait. I really like Cyclops. That was a good one.” There’s all sorts of wounded accusation in her tone, and I have no idea why. She flicks thepaddles so aggressively that the two balls she’s working with go wild, pinging violently all over the place. “Why didn’t you tell me about the eye?”

I watch her carefully. “I thought you knew.”

She mashes the paddles harder. “No. It’s very realistic.”

“Generally, they’re made to look that way. But the scars…”

She stays stubbornly silent.

“If I was missing a hand, would I tell you that I was missing a hand?”

“I have no idea, though it’d be pretty obvious. Whatever. It’s fine.” More mashing, more balls pinging all over. The monsters have yet to come to life, though the bright orange score flickering at the top keeps running up.

I just stand there trying to think of something to say that isn’t going to make her more pissed than she is.

She slaps a few buttons, and the machine makes encouraging noises. Her lips finally twitch at the corners, her poise evaporating. “How’s work going? How’s stalking me coming along?”

I don’t normally lower myself to goading, but she knows how to get under my skin, and I find myself responding to her needling, though I thought we had some sort of truce in place. “When do you want me to model for you?”

I don’t miss the tiny inhale that she tries to cover up. “How about tomorrow?” She loses both balls at almost the same time and curses. She waits impatiently, foot tapping in away that makes her whole body shiver seductively and my dick start weeping in my boxers as my focus is drawn straight to her lithe curves and strong muscles somehow outlined by her jeans and fitted shirt. “Did I mention that I require you to wear a loincloth?”

I have no idea if she’s joking or not. I know nothing about art. I suppose a modesty patch or whatever those things are called that they use for filming intimate scenes in movies would be better than having to pose naked. I suppose I never considered it. I’ve never been ashamed of my scars or flaws and don’t give a shit if they’re on display or not, but stripping down for her like that would be a different kind of vulnerability altogether.

“Maybe not a loincloth, but I’ll send you a list. I’d like you to follow it exactly.”

Fuck if that’s not ominous. I can only imagine what it’ll entail.

“I’m going to get a drink,” she announces after both balls plunge down into the abyss again. She doesn’t look at me. “Want one?”

“You arenotgetting a drink.” I put out my hand to stop her, but she dodges around it with ease, turning to blast me with a sassy smirk and absolute defiance oozing from every pore.

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