Page 12 of In the Net
He shrugs. The movement of his shoulders pulls the hem of his shirt above his beltline just enough to reveal the sharp ridges of the V-shaped muscle cut low on his abdomen. “Not really.”
“Hello?” the speaker by the control panel sounds again.
This time I’m the one surging toward it, urged by my eagerness to get out of this hot, enclosed space with a partially undressed Sebastian.
“Yes? Are we going to be moving soon?” I ask, aforementioned eagerness seeping into my voice.
“We hope so,” it answers. Even through the static, it’s not difficult to detect the lack of optimism in that statement. “We’ve got maintenance staff looking at the gears at the top of the shaft. Something’s stuck. We might have to call in an outside repair service, but we’ll keep you updated.”
My stomach drops in disappointment, but I do my best to disguise it when I answer, “Great, thank you.”
I let out a long sigh when I back up to the wall, this time letting myself sink to a seating position on the floor.
Sebastian does the same. “What page are you on now?” he asks.
I open my book to check. “One-seventy-eight.”
He arches a brow. “Shit. You’re past me now. I’m still on one-seventy-one.”
I flash him a tight smile. “You snooze, you lose.”
I try to focus on my book again, but when I spread the pages open in front of me, Sebastian says, “Wait.”
“What?” I ask.
“Give me a couple minutes to catch up to you. Then we can at least pass the time by talking about the book up to where we’ve read.”
A conversation with Sebastian hasn’t been my idea of a good time in many years. But it’s hot, stuffy, I’m bored, anxious, and I’m still wound way too tight from Sebastian’s scantily clad upper body. Concentrating on my book would be a long shot anyway.
“Sure, why not?” I accept.
After a couple minutes of Sebastian flipping through pages, he inserts his bookmark and lays the book on the floor by his side.
“Okay, I have a theory about what the opening line means.”
My interest is piqued. The beginning of the book—a long, cryptic sentence that seems to have nothing to do with the paragraph that launches into the story immediately after it—is already infamous among readers, though I’ve been doing my best to avoid anywhere I might encounter spoilers.
“What?” I ask.
We spend the next several minutes talking about what we think of that opening line, then move on to talking about the characters, our favorite passages, how we think the book compares to Chilton’s previous work, and why we think he chose to release it the way he did.
It feels like no time at all has passed when suddenly, the elevator cabin jerks upward and starts ascending again.
Sebastian’s face lights up with surprise. “We’re moving?”
I push back up to my feet. “Seems that way.”
Sebastian stands. When he puts his blue shirt back on, leaving it unbuttoned this time to still reveal the tight white undershirt underneath, the sight is somehow even more provocative. I realize I’m staring way too obviously at him, and I turn my head quickly, feeling my cheeks go uncomfortably warm.
Stupid late-summer heat making me ogle Sebastian, the last thing in the world I want to do.
As much as I don’t want to ogle him … there’s a strange twinge of disappointment when we finally arrive at the seventh floor and the doors open for us.
In spite of myself, I actually enjoyed our conversation about the book. As an English major, I’ve run into plenty of people who enjoy TK Chilton’s work, but Sebastian is the only person I’ve met who’s as big a fan as I am.
Stepping from the hot, stagnant air of the cabin into the air-conditioned hallway of the seventh floor is like walking into heaven. I sigh in relief as cool air glides over my sweaty body.
All in all, being trapped in an elevator with Sebastian wasn’t as torturous as I would have expected. It’s been a while since I’ve had such an interesting conversation about a book with someone.
