“Is that what you want? For me to be your archenemy?”
“I never wanted that. Not ever.”
“I did,” she says, surprising me.
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” she says with great certainty. “Maybe I’m just competitive, but before I knew you, I wanted to be better than you. I wanted to show everyone how much more talented I was than you. I wanted to win more awards and sell more albums. I guess you just made me want to be better. And also…” She trails off.
My voice is dry and gravelly when I speak. “What?”
“Hating you would have been a lot easier than … this.”
I’m aware of a heavy lump in my throat when I swallow. “What do you mean … this?”
She doesn’t reply, and it’s no overreaction that I think my heart may crack open in the silence.
“Are you in your hotel room?” she asks eventually.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Speak up,” she orders, and that alone has my nipples tightening painfully.
“Yes, I’m alone.”
“Good. What are you wearing?”
I lick my lips and look down at my denim skirt and the blouse I have on. “A skirt and a top.”
“Take them off,” she insists.
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Then do as I ask.”
“But what about the phone…” I ask, feeling foolish and confused, and so incredibly turned on.
“Put it down on the bed and take off your clothes. Pick it up again when you’re wearing nothing but your underwear.”
After another awkward swallow, I put the phone down beside me. My fingers are shaking as I undo the buttons on my blouse and then on the clasp of my skirt. I roll down my tights and discard my clothes on a pile on the floor.
“Okay, I’m in my bra and knickers,” I say when I have the receiver back against my ear.
“Knickers,” Pia muses. “I think that may be my favourite English word.”
“You’re so strange,” I comment, and I don’t know when I started rubbing my thighs together, but I can’t seem to stop.
“What colour are they? Your knickers?”
“White.”
