Page 39 of Space Oddities

This is one of the many reasons I’m so drawn to her. For as much as she doesn’t tell me, there is plenty that she does in these moments when she’s unguarded. I was struck the first moment I saw her waving her hand in the air at Boondoggles, her expression so joyful, so happy. Then instantaneously changing into annoyance at Rose, who was next to her. Though while they squabbled, Trish’s eyes remained soft, her mouth still curved in a smile, her affection toward her friend evident.

For someone like me, raised in such a guarded household and taught to hide everything behind a mask of indifference, she was an invigorating gust of wind, blowing away the stagnant heaviness that has plagued me for most of my life.

Trish lifts one hand, trailing her fingers across the top of her breasts, playing with the white ruffle, making me swallow.

I almost miss her eyes flicking to the kitchen window, the sly smile at her lips.

Oh, so that’s how it is?

Smiling, I stand and head up to my room to change.

Two can play this game.

* * *

Trish

The French doors open,and I smile to myself.Not so unaffected now, are we?

I spent the first hour after Ian left for work confused and disappointed, followed by being proud of myself for not doing something stupid and a determination to put more distance between Ian and myself. I even managed to push aside my turmoil to research therapists that specialize in claustrophobia.

But mostly I seethed in anger.

How dare he get me all wound up and then just leave with a peck on the lips? Just what game does he think he’s playing?

When I heard the garage door open an hour ago, it was like something inside me snapped.

If I have to be in his house, in this bubble I created for myself, I may as well enjoy it. And that means sex. Lots and lots of sex.

If Ian thinks otherwise, well then, I’ll change his mind.

Hence the bikini trick again.

And judging by the fact that Ian could not wait the two hours I requested before coming outside, the old sayingIf it ain’t broke don’t fix itis as true as ever.

“I still have forty-five minutes left,” I call out, eyes still on my laptop, trying hard not to look too pleased with myself. Honestly, though, I don’t need any more time. I’ve written twice the amount I usually do in my normal two-hour sprints. Toodles, writer’s block!

“That’s fine; write away. I thought I’d get a few laps in.”

I glance up. “Sure…” I choke, nearly swallowing my tongue.

Ian is in a bathing suit. And not the board shorts from yesterday. No.

He’s in a Speedo.

Now, it may be sexist to say, but I was recently of the opinion that no man looks good in such a skimpy bathing suit. I’ve always preferred my men in swim trunks. The California surfer vibe, if you will.

But I was wrong. Soverywrong.

Because Ian Kincaid looks like an almighty god in his teeny bikini. Forget Captain America. He’s Poseidon.

“You trying to catch flies?” he jokes, raising his arms above his head, stretching.

Snapping my mouth closed, I try to look unaffected. I’m sure I fail. “You, uh, just surprised me.”

He windmills each arm a few times, then pulls them across his chest. “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks downright pleased with himself. Like the cat that ate the canary. And the way my heart is fluttering, I’m feeling very bird-like.

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