Page 64 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
But he’s getting closer. And I can’t trust my creaky joints to risk moving again. The most I can do is lean back a tiny bit—
I’m so focused on Diego’s progress that I almost miss Heather waving her arms. I meet her insistent glare, and she points behind me, mouthing,Ian!
I frown in confusion, and she makes a tugging gesture with both of her hands, grabbing at waist level, then driving her simulated grip into her hips—
Is that ahump? InvolvingIan? Madam, this is no time to mime my secret thoughts!
I’m still frowning at her gesticulations when Diego takes two large steps forward, recapturing my attention. But then, warm hands close on my hips. Big hands.Ian’shands. I stare down at the fingers pressing into my hipbones. My immediate thought isEh?,
followed by an equally inarticulateIsthisa hump?But then I begin easing backward.
A glance over my shoulder gives me a view of Ian, bent over fully at the waist, making use of his impressive torso and arm length to close the distance between our spots. He’s achieved traction by going barefoot, the crafty guy, and as he pulls, I scoot ever nearer to him, my socks sliding soundlessly over the glossy wood.
I face forward, Diego has advanced. He’s stalking straight for me, while Heather and Alistair—the traitors!—have scooched out of his way, leaving the path clear.
Ian adjusts his grip, fingers digging into my sides, and heaves me back. I careen into his chest, molding my back into his body while Diego gropes in the spot where I’d been not two seconds before. I shrink further into Ian, his arms banding across my chest and waist. He starts edging backward with me in tow, the motion rocking me side to side with each shuffle of his retreat. I am, essentially, being rubbed against the entire front of his person. I do not mind.
Diego pauses, doing birdlike head tilts, but for the moment, I’m out of his range. I tell myself it’s out of relief that I let the back of my head rest again Ian’s chest. But when I connect with that impressive swell of muscle, I am fused to the spot. I’m like a cat caught in a sunbeam, totally immobilized. God, he’s warm.
Diego reaches out suddenly, swinging his hand so close, I feel the air it moves past the tip of my nose. Ian had been approaching a wall when I looked back at him, so there’s only so much farther we can maneuver to get out of reach. I have no choice: It’s going to have to be sabotage.
But with what? I have nothing on hand; my leggings don’t even have pockets. But Ian—he might have something! I scour my brain, keeping tabs on Diego’s proximity as I think. Car keys? Phone? Ah! His wallet!
I raise a hand, my index finger lifted in the universal—right?—symbol ofaha!to let him know I’ve had an idea. It earns me a squeeze—which hijacks my brain for only a moment—and I change the position of my upraised hand, making a plucking motion before lifting my other hand, my two palms face-up, like a billfold. In a last-ditch attempt at clarity, I fan my left hand over my right palm to mime “making it rain dollar money.”
He gets it, I think. He gives me a thumbs-up using the hand across my chest, so now, I need to make my way toward his wallet… but which pocket is it in?
While I feel that it reflects well on me as a modern woman of good taste who does not objectify her boss that the man’s posterior isn’t etched firmly enough into my memory that I can recall on which side he keeps his wallet, right now, it is an inconvenience. I tap on his right leg, getting no response, then his left. This gets me another thumbs-up, and I reach behind him. For the sake of propriety, I make as little contact as I can, walking my fingers down to his waistline. But I do not miss the way his grip stiffens as I edge toward my target. When I get to the pocket, I pause, waiting for any final objection. Another encouraging squeeze from Ian. In I go.
I try to maintain my minimal-contact spider fingers, but the fit over his well-formed posterior is too tight. So it’s an open palm slide over firm, high glute for me. Ian shudders, the left side of his body contracting against me, and I have to remind myself tobreathe. But then the very ends of my nails graze over something in his pocket. I go deeper and curl my claws, the tips digging into the leather of his wallet just enough for grip, and I lift up.
It’s awkward going when I have to transition the wallet from my fingers to my palm, demanding a wriggling motion that results in some unavoidable prodding of Ian’s butt cheek, but then the wallet is securely in hand. I free it from the pocket, the air of the room noticeably cooler outside the tush-warmed denim, and bring it in front of me. There’s a sliver of candy wrapper stuck to it, the cellophane from one of the cinnamon things he’s always sucking on.
I scan the room, trying to determine the most effective spot to toss my plunder, when I notice that everyone not blindfolded is openly gawking at me. Their eyes dart from me to the wallet, then past me, presumably, to Ian, and I realize that as far as they’re concerned, I molested the poor man, then pickpocketed him.
Heather even mouths,What the hell?, which is fair.
I raise the wallet, then make a tossing motion to demonstrate my intention, pointing at Diego with my empty hand for good measure.
The critical reception softens to understanding. But Grant’s head is still cocked.
“You’re gonnathrowthat at Diego?” he asks.Aloud.
“Grant!” Diego spins on his heels, and, in a moment of unexpected agility, leaps at Grant. Or would, if he had any traction. His legs fly out from beneath him, and for a heartbeat, the man is suspended in the air, arms outstretched, Superman-style, before he drops.Hard.
This would have been bad enough for Diego, but Mark hadbeen edging behind him the moment the latter fellow spun around, and he ends up taking the bulk of Diego’s not insignificant mass. Mark lets out a squawk upon impact, as Diego grunts, guessing “Ellie’s man friend?” from his living landing pad.
The tension leaves the room in a whoosh of faintly hysterical collective laughter.
Ian collapses over me in relief. “When I guessed what you were going for, I didn’t expect it to be so… thorough.” It’s murmured directly into the side of my neck, his lips shaping each word into the tender skin. For half a second, my laughter becomes a breathy, almost moan.Jesus.My entire body is tingling.
“I’m so sorry!” I say, and he straightens, loosening his grip enough that I can turn to face him while still in the circle of his arms. “I tried not to make more contact than necessary.”
“You’re good.” He shakes his head. “But I think I lost consciousness the moment you cupped my ass.”
“You what?” I ask. He’s still holding me; my hands, one still brandishing his wallet, are high on his chest; and if not for the difference in our heights, we would be crotch-to-crotch. As it is, we’re currently crotch-to-belly.
“Ellie! You were going to throw something at me?” Diego asks. And while I’d still like clarification on Ian’s brief loss of consciousness, I face my downed roommate. Ian, ever the gentleman, keeps his arms around me.
