Okay, there is definitely some tension here. I haven't flirted with a man in years, since the prime hours for bar flirting are occupied by food deliveries. And when I’m working out in a gym, guys think telling me how my form is wrong counts as flirting.
Those guys get an eye roll.
Miguel, makes flirting fun.
Testing what gets a reaction out of him is my new source of entertainment.
Plus, if I’m flirting, I’m not focused on the embarrassment of him finding me trying to sleep in the backseat of a Honda Civic.
When he steps out of the bathroom I'm already climbing into bed. He had his charger set up on the far beside table next to his fancy pillow so I took the near side of the bed.
"Move over." He says as I pull the blanket up to my chin.
"What?"
"You're on that side." He points to the far side by the window where his things are.
"Why?"
"I sleep between the door and you." He says as he pulls his shirt over his head. The world transitions to slow motion and I am frozen watching his body move with the action. His torso is trim, his pecs are solid. More ink dances across his ribcage and I want to inspect it.
Maybe lick it.
He folds the t-shirt after taking it off and places it in one of the dresser drawers. When he turns back to me, I haven't moved an inch.
"Laney, slide over."
"Oh, right." I scoot over to the other side of the bed and busy myself getting the pillows switched out. I turn on my side and face away from him because I don't think it's smart for me to be watching him climb into bed.
That’s the type of imagery my subconscious doesn’t need to actually witness.
I’ll never have a dry dream again.
I feel the bed dip and jostle as he gets settled in. I expect a pillow to find its way between us as a barrier but after a minute of stillness I don't think he placed one there.
It feels like an invitation. Or at least, an opening.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"You just did."
"Funny, okay, how long did it take you to get your Pro Card?"
"Two seasons." He says as he rolls towards me.
"Two?" I confirm. Trying not to let the disappointment in my voice come through.
"Yeah, I couldn’t crack the top five my first year. And missed the 8% cut off in one of the races. But I came back the next season and got it done." He rolls to his back and props an arm under his head as he looks up at the ceiling.
His biceps bulge at this angle and my eyes catch their contours in the dim light of the room.
"Is that what you’re working towards?" He asks.
"Yeah, my plan is to go pro and get a solid sponsorship."
"And you’re just starting?" He confirms.
"I couldn’t finish a full TP last year, so you know,tri,triagain." I laugh a little admitting it. Gods, what does he think about me? "I started with Olympic triathlon distances, but, umm, want to push for more." Sure I’m in bed with the man but he is still a stranger. And I don’t think he wants to hear my whole sad story about a sickbed promise to become the best to honor my dying father.
