Page 46 of Ten Day Affair
She shifts, straddling me now, dress sliding higher, mouth hungry against mine. My hands grip her hips, and for a minute, I forget why this is a bad idea.
Then she pulls back. It's slight, almost imperceptible, but I sense it.
I ease back just slightly, my breath rough. She clears her throat and stands.
“This is probably a terrible idea,” I say, even as my hand finds her waist and I pull her back to my lap. I’m a walking contradiction, and I know it.
“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding once. Her lips are still parted, her fingers brushing over them like she’s waging the same battle I am. Do we dive in, or use restraint to avoid things getting complicated fast?
We both know better. Neither of us moves.
“I’m not sure we can do this and keep it simple.”
Sam blinks at me, like I’ve said something she was already trying not to think. “You think I don’t know it’s a bad idea?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. I think you know exactly how bad this could be.”
We sit like that for a few seconds, neither of us saying a word. Her legs brushing mine, and my hands still on her body. Both of our breaths are still hard.
She leans her forehead against mine. “You throwing a wrench in this doesn’t make it any less complicated.”
“It also doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”
She closes her eyes. “God, I hate that you’re right.”
I exhale a laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”
She slides off my lap and smooths her dress, cheeks flushed. “I should go now.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“I think I can manage the twenty steps, thanks.”
I watch her cross the patio and disappear into the darkness down the steps.
What the fuck?
ELEVEN
Sam
"Is that supposed to be lasagna or geological sediment?" I poke at the orange-red mass on my tray. The cafeteria’s fluorescent lights somehow make it look even less appetizing.
Kip slides into the seat across from me, his tray loaded with twice as much food as mine. There’s a coffee stain on his scrubs, and his glasses are perched slightly crooked on his nose like they gave up on his face halfway through rounds.
"I think it’s Thursday’s special. Which means it’s either beef-adjacent or a science experiment gone wrong."
"I've lost my appetite."
He lifts a forkful, squinting at it like he might carbon date it. "I’m leaning toward experiment."
I snort and nudge it aside with my fork. "Your standards are deeply alarming."
"Seven years in, and I just want something in my belly. Dignity’s optional."
"I think I'll pass today. A protein bar will be fine."
My phone jitters against the tray. I glance down at the new message.
