“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of people joining in.”
The entire town might forget about their bingo game and stare and gossip about me and Ford. And I’d be okay with it. What would make the occasion more enjoyable would be if we were marked. As it was, I’d have to introduce Ford as my friend.
“Come on.” We’d taken my vehicle because I was never sure if Ford’s was going to die before it left the driveway.
I blinked as we reached the entrance of the community center. I preferred warm lights, but everyone in town liked white light. I could never understand why they wanted their homes and places of work to be as bright as if they were performing surgery.
We were early but the place was packed, and heads swiveled in our direction as we approached Norm who was selling the cards. I pulled out my wallet rather than a phone because a) Forddidn’t have any money and b) most people in town didn’t have the facilities to use what they described as those new fangled QR codes.
I bought us three cards each. That would take us to the refreshment break and we could decide if we’d had enough or wanted to get more. Ford brushed against me as I paid and a bill dropped onto the floor. We both bent over and put our fingers on it at the same time. He picked it up, but I couldn’t move because my body and my beast were clamoring for more, for us to mate.
“Do you have back problems?” he asked when I finally got myself upright.
“No. It was just a spasm.” One caused by him. Maybe he was thankful we hadn’t marked one another since he thought my decrepit body was giving out on me.
“I promise when I’m paid, I’ll bring you here and it’ll be my treat.”
That was assuming he was still around. That connection we had should have shown itself with a regular pulsing sensation, but I experienced a prickly irritating feeling of something left unfinished.
Ford followed me to a table with two vacant seats, and I introduced him to everyone at the table. They focused on him and asked the usual questions of what he was doing in town and where he was living. He was gracious and answered by saying I was a friend and he was staying with me until he found a place of his own.
He got a few raised eyebrows at the word “friend,” but no one pushed him for more information. If we’d been mated, I could have held his hand and called him my husband, because manyof the people here were human. But I was reduced to the friend zone, and the gap between Ford and me was as cold as the word “unmarked.”
Artie, the caller, tapped on the microphone, and anyone still standing took their places. He told us we were playing any straight line. I pointed at Ford’s card and explained. He grinned, and I gulped. That smile had me almost yanking him under the table and demanding he mark me.
“I think I’ve got it.” Our eyes locked on one another. I could have sworn we were only looking at one another for a second, but someone at the table cleared their throat, and I glanced away.
Artie called B-7. A woman at our table squealed as she dabbed the marker on the correct square. I couldn’t get as worked up over bingo as she did, but it was fun when you were close to winning.
Ford marked off B-7 on his card.
“You’re off to a great start,” I whispered. When I replayed that remark in my head, it sounded as though he was a racing car driver, and I wished I could take it back.
I looked down at my card and told myself I wasn’t going to spend the evening staring at Ford. I’d brought him here to avoid doing just that. But his eyes found mine, and I began to sweat. I was melting under his gaze, not knowing what to do with my hands.
Artie saved me by calling another number, forcing me to pay attention to my card.
“O-62.”
A man at the next table murmured, “Yes.” I was so distracted thinking of Ford next to me, I forgot what I was doing. He leaned over, putting his lips close to my ear.
“You have O-62.”
“Oh, of course.” Now I was flustered because everyone at the table was staring at me, and Ford was smirking. Coming here was a mistake because I could have done awkward interactions at home.
“I-19.”
I kept my head bent, not caring whether Ford was marking off a number or staring at me. Pretending I was very interested in my bingo card, I counted the seconds until Artie called the next number.
Ford whispered, “You’re holding the marker as if it’s going to escape.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “I like to keep a good grip.”
Spots of pink appeared on his cheeks. Oh, damn. Was he thinking back to the night we slept together? Perhaps. Maybe he was imagining me clasping his cock tightly while I was giving him a blow job.
Artie continued calling the numbers, and I was surprised no one had won yet. When the person beside me shouted “Bingo!” I looked up. What? This was Ford’s first time, and he’d won the first round.
There were mutterings of, “I was so close,” and “I had one more.”
