Page 26 of Pride and Protest
“Jennifer and Liza, I think it only makes sense for you two to—” Dorsey started.
Oh, hell no. Dorsey will not stick me with the silent-but-deadly night tooter.
“It looks like the gods favor action over deliberation.” Liza made a fast break for the third pod. But Dorsey was faster and reached the pod seconds before Liza crashed into it. Before he wiped his expression clean, she caught him smiling.
Jennifer smiled so tightly it looked like her face might break. “Well, it looks like you two have chosen.” She took off her shoes and stepped into the second pod. “Good night.” She slammed thepod door so hard it bounced back open. It took her three angry slams to satisfyingly close the hatch.
Liza’s shoulders shook. All she could do was laugh. This fucking day would not stop. “I guess it’s you and me.”
Dorsey’s face was stone. He didn’t even acknowledge the ridiculousness of their tight quarters. Instead, he got up and stormed off into the darkness.
Would he rather freeze than lie next to me?
Dorsey stepped into his office, closed his door with a soft click, and let out a silent scream. He had spent a lot of money on peace and comfort. Retreats, vacations, yoga, meditation. So much of his life was spent pretending, acting like a man who deserved his father’s last name. His only release was that he got to take off the mask at the end of the day and find his own peace.
Dorsey had spent the entire day acting as if he would not burst into flames at the sight of Liza’s exposed skin and the feel of her soft hip against his dick.Get ahold of yourself.He couldn’t maintain this kind of physical and mental anxiety. Did she know she could knock him over with a feather right now? If she gave himanyindication that she wanted to, he would absolutely fucking rock her to sleep, her head tapping against the top of the pod and his mouth on her breast.
He grabbed his headphones and searched for a meditation app on his phone. He needed one hour of Liza-free peace. Being flustered in front of a crowd was one thing, but to be so agitated in his peaceful bubble was unheard-of. He had once gone to a meditation retreat and hadn’t uttered a word for a week and a half. The organizers had reached out to him to teach the retreatthe next year. External things he couldn’t control gave him anxiety, sure, but the one person healwaysfought to be at peace with was himself. Now he was a live wire and would burst out of his own skin if he didn’t keep himself at a safe distance from her. No distance was safe enough, though. Liza Bennett had committed the unpardonable sin of making him uncomfortable in his own head.
When he got back down to the eighth floor, he was prepared. Dorsey had held out as long as he could, but the cold had crept up. His soundproof headphones and the mountain of pillows—to build impenetrable borders between his body and hers—teetered as he made his way back to the pod. He looked like a hockey goalie. But when he pulled open the pod, Liza was already asleep. She had some silk scarf wrapped around her head. Lying there with her brush of black eyelashes resting on her cheeks, she looked like she had been lifted out of a charcoal sketch. He exhaled a shaky breath and placed the pillows inside the gleaming white pod. When he closed the hatch above his head, he was enveloped in blessed warmth and the smell of coconuts and some other nutty bouquet. Before he carefully fashioned his pillow wall so that he could avoid accidental contact, he allowed himself to study her body outlined in shadow. She looked like she’d been drawn by a master. She was alternately lush and lean, full and hollow. The shimmering brown of her skin reminded him of the warm, tropical riverbanks he fished from as a child. Would she be that warm and wet? Could he submerge himself and let her wash over him? He lifted her head and wedged a pillow underneath her to make her more comfortable. The warmth and coconut smell weaved around him, and his eyes got heavy. Then, immediately, his eyes popped open wide.
An ass.
The soft rise of a perfect peach ass on his hip. Was it? It was. It was grinding now.
Nope.
No.
He shook her shoulder.
“Liza!” he whispered. The panic rose in his voice. “Liza!” Her eyes fluttered open.
“What?” Liza looked confused, but how could she be? She had to feel her entire ass on his leg.
Dorsey knifed an imaginary line down the middle of the pod. “You’re over the line.”
“What line?” Liza asked groggily.
He hacked the air with the flat of his hand. “This line.”
“You’re just making gestures,” Liza said and settled back into her position.
“You. Your butt is over the line.”
“Should I apologize for being a Black woman, then?”
“It’s not about that. It’s just bad sleep technique. You’re like the letterS. You should be straight like a lowercasel.”
Liza turned over to face him again. Dorsey bit his bottom lip. Had her eyes been that intense shade of brown yesterday? Had her lashes been this long? The snaps on that cheap shirt could easily come undone in the night.
He shifted a pillow over his cock. It pulsed in response to an unasked question.No, you are not fucking invited.
“A lowercasellike you?” she asked.
“Yes, like me. This is good bed-sharing etiquette.” Dorsey demonstrated his perfect form.
“You look like you’re doing a side plank.” She poked at his shoulders and biceps. Didn’t she know not to bother a corneredanimal? “You are fully flexing. You can’t even relax in your sleep.” Liza shook her head.
