“Well, are you having a good time?”
“I am now.”
There’s no deeper meaning to her words. I know that. But they still feel good. And when I rub my hand over the small of her back, the thin strip of flesh that’s exposed between her corset and her panties, she sighs happily.
“You did what you wanted to do. So it’s okay that you took more than you should have.”
She nods. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry if I’ve been babbling. Or really weird. Or anything else. I think I’m okay now. Thanks for rescuing me from myself.”
I’m not sure if that’s a dismissal or not, but I don’t want to be dismissed. “So what happened in West Virginia?” I ask, removing my hand from her back but staying where I am, letting her decide for herself what she wants to do.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Some nice people let us stay with them while the tie rod was being fixed, and she was a seamstress, sold stuff online. She showed me how to use a sewing machine, and I helped her make some things. She even paid me. And now I kind of make a living off it in a way.”
“Is that why you’re here this weekend? Are you a vendor?”
“Nah, I’m just here to have a good time and show off my body.” She says it with a laugh, but then she immediately gasps and flushes in embarrassment. “Wow, I sound like a narcissist.”
I shrug. “I’m the one in a codpiece.”
“You’re in a thong you got off Amazon that you superglued a bowl into.”
“A cup. Anathleticcup. I worked really hard on my costume.”
She snorts. “Yeah, at the gym. And when was the last time you had a bottle of water? February? Drink that.” She nods to the row of bottles I’ve lined up on the ledge, two of them still full.
I grudgingly agree and actually feel better for her recognizing the trick I’ve pulled.
“And no, I wasn’t calling you out, either. But I, well, I was sick this past year. Things were touch-and-go for a while there. I didn’t know if I was going to make it.”
Here, I want her to add. She didn’t know if she was going to make ithere.The hesitation there tells me she’s also wondering if she should add that word. But an awful lot of what she’s said in the last couple of hours makes more sense with this admission.
“I’m glad you did,” I tell her, nudging her gently with my shoulder, enough that she rocks slowly, no concern over tipping. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I swallow one of the bottles of water in a single gulp and look over the railing at the floor below, worried that eye contact would be weird now. Especially because Iamwondering what she was sick with and how bad it really was, if it’s the reason everything about her seems a little off and if I should feel shitty for thinking what almost killed her made her intriguing. But no, I’m glad that if only one good thing came out of her illness, it’s this weird handful of hours that I’ll forget about in a few months, only for it to all come back every time I’m back in this hotel. A year from now, I’ll be drawn to this spot, and I’ll spend a couple hours standing right here, wondering if she’s somewhere here, too.
Wondering if she’s well.
Wondering if she survived another year.
Fuck.
My chest tightens, and I close my eyes, opening them when something soft brushes against my cheeks.
She’s already drawn back and said, “Thank you,” when I realize she’s just kissed me. Just my cheek, a sweet tap, but when I look at her, I notice her pupils are slightly bigger, her color brighter, her lips still parted as she keeps her eyes on me.
“I like that you came here to show off your body. You look hot in that outfit.” Not a lie. She may not be a supermodel, butshe’s absolutely hot in that outfit. I have to continually catch myself from staring at her boobs jiggling in her corset. And yeah, I’m trying to be a gentleman, but every time I’ve leaned behind her for any reason, I may have let my hand travel across her butt. It’s soft and squishy underneath the spandex.
I’m a pig.
She grins like she’s never heard that before, which is ridiculous to me. There’s no way guys aren’t checking her out regularly. “Thanks. I was worried this was going to be overkill, but then I thought what’s the worst that’s going to happen? I get laid?”
I go rigid at that. That wasn’t an invitation. I don’t think. Like, it definitely wasn’t an obvious invitation, and I don’t know if it was an attempt at a subtle invitation, but it wasn’t close enough that I’m willing to risk it when I’m enjoying just hanging out with her. So I play it safe with, “I have a confession. I also wore this with the concern it might get me laid.”
“Wearis a strong word.”
I nod.
She holds my eyes for a long time, but I don’t think she’s expecting me to say anything. I think she’s deciding if she wants to say something. I think she does want to fuck.
