Page 123 of The Bet
She walked over to a door. “Could you?” she asked, turning to him.
He walked over and opened the door, staring into her bedroom. Purple bedspread, gray curtains. Books on a white wooden desk adjacent to it. She placed the books on the desk and turned around, slapping her hands together, as if getting rid of the dust.
He raised a palm to his face, heard his heartbeat thundering beneath his ribcage. He’d wanted to see her, had been wanting to see her ever since the other day when she had come over to show him how to do the 3D bar charts. He knew how to do them, more or less. Yes, they were fiddly, yes, they were a pain in the butt, and yes, he didn’t include them in his reports precisely because they were fiddly and a pain in the butt.
But he’d been lying letting her think he had no clue. And now, it didn’t seem right to continue the lie just because he needed to get close.
He’d jerked off to her plenty of times, because, well, he’d had to. But now, with her likethis, he wasn’t prepared for it. His throat dried up, and he didn’t know how to start. How to begin to come clean.
“You have a great figure, Laronde.” He wiped his hand over his face again, felt as if he was going to start sweating buckets if he had to stand here and stare at her any longer.
“You can come in,” she said, folding her arms, and leaning against the desk. He obeyed, and stepped inside. “This is a big room,” he said, scrutinizing everything slowly.
“We got lucky with this apartment, and the rent is affordable-ish, even if the neighborhood isn’t that great.”
His eyes met hers, in understanding.
Fuck.
She had toned triceps. He could tell by the outline of those delicate muscles. Bare arms. Like back in Fiji when he’d seen her in the pool. Shorts, and that Lime Green Bikini.
“What?” she asked, when she caught him looking.
“Nothing,” he replied, looking away, wondering how he was going to begin setting the record straight.
“No,” she said. “What? What was that look for?”
He took a step towards owning up. “I was thinking of you that time on the island. I had a name for you back then.”
She stood up, a curious smile on her lips. “A name for me?”
“Lime Green Bikini.”
“Lime Green Bikini?” she said, her hands resting on her slender hips. But she didn’t sound angry. She sounded appropriately indignant, but with a smile.
“I had a name for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Now it was his turn to step nearer, put on a faux indignant tone.
“Asshole.”
“Asshole,” he said slowly, taking another step forward.
“Jerk,” she replied, giving him an inviting smile.
“Jerk, too?”
She nodded. “And douchebag.”
“And douchbag.” He nodded, as if agreeing with her choice of words, and couldn’t stop himself reaching out to touch her arm. When she didn’t flinch, or say anything, his fingers slid down, tracing along the length. “And now?”
“Now you’re just Stone.”
It was an adequate description for the state of his manhood right now. She licked her lips, her eyes fixing on his lips, her head moving forward a miniscule fraction.
He was usually so confident in all the moves he made.
Usually.
