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Authors: Hilarey Johnson
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another room. It looks like the bedroom of a model home, only a
little shinier, sleazier. I stop and cross my arms, about to laugh that he
brought me in here with so little pomp and circumstance.
“Sometimes I stay all night. I decided I shouldn’t
have to sleep on my office couch since the remodel.” He pulls me by the hand
and walks backward to sit down on the side of the bed, next to the pillows. I stand
in front of him, my hand still held between his fingers.
Since the remodel. I sigh.
“So you want a drink?”
The decision. I know a drink means the date is not
over. I know he wants the date to continue with me crawling into that bed with
him. Why shouldn’t I? If stage dancing is as competitive as Cori indicated, it
can’t hurt me to be dating the owner. Unless he is another Steve Mackenzie and
nothing is mentioned until the next time he wants a tussle.
Hayden said this kind of thing should be between two
people, only. Special. He probably won’t be entwined with Leah later tonight. The
thought comforts me; also, it somehow amplifies the fact that I have no
interest in touching Brody.
“She auditioned on silver sheets.” I remember the
girls’ remarks. Maybe they think I slept with Brody to get this job. My heart
starts to pick up a pace. With the hand that Brody doesn’t hold, I reach up and
pull down the comforter. I have to know the color of his sheets. Brody takes my
action as invitation and springs forward like a leach from some alien movie.
His face burrows my breasts and both arms wind around my waist, exploring. It
takes two hands and double effort to peel him off. He sits back, loving the
game, with big pleading eyes.
“What do you think…?” Something inside me says
run. This won’t be a game to him. I know it like I can hear his thoughts.
He grabs me and spins me around before I can
finish speaking. He irons me to the bed. It’s funny I always think he has pleading,
puppy-dog eyes, because now he’s not gentle—and he’s not asking. I finally have
to pull his hair back to get him off me, and it’s so short I can barely pinch
it. He starts to lurch forward again, and I slap him. He doesn’t even touch his
face, though my hand stings like crazy. He just smiles.
“You’re a dog.” I hate myself that I can’t come up
with something better to say. He begins laughing and I know I better leave, or
he’ll think I’m willing to play. I reach the door in only a few steps.
“See you Monday.” He calls, still chuckling.
I take a quick glance back. In our mêlée, we
skewed the blankets. His satin sheets are indeed silver. Dog. A weekend fling
would have been forgotten on Monday.
It should mean more.
I cross the hall and enter the costume jungle. I
had placed my clothes and shoes in a corner and now I grab them to change. As I
slide out of my ridiculously high heels, I hear movement out in the hall. My
chest constricts. Brody will follow me.
This is when it changes, now it won’t be a game.
I hug my jeans and duck behind a rack of color. My
heart announces where I’m hiding, even if only to me. I try to slow it as the
door opens. Footsteps. Scrape of metal. A warm drop slides down the curve of my
spine. This horrible satin dress is the last thing I want to be wearing at this
moment.
Who is in here? Finally, I peak around the rack,
still hidden, but expecting to see Brody. No one. Two large Peacock-feather wings
swing from a hook on the wall. They have eyes with blue irises, surrounded by
brown and green covering the length of them. They hang like a carcass, waving
in the wind. But it isn’t wind which blows through this room, it’s another
presence.
I am hunted. I am haunted. Sometimes I just know
the curse is near, I feel the spirit.
I pump my arms and feel the sensation of bare feet
meeting the floor. Fortunately, the slit in my dress allows my legs freedom. I
stumble at the stairs, afraid to take them at the pace I left the costume jungle.
I try skipping steps. At the
little shinier, sleazier. I stop and cross my arms, about to laugh that he
brought me in here with so little pomp and circumstance.
“Sometimes I stay all night. I decided I shouldn’t
have to sleep on my office couch since the remodel.” He pulls me by the hand
and walks backward to sit down on the side of the bed, next to the pillows. I stand
in front of him, my hand still held between his fingers.
Since the remodel. I sigh.
“So you want a drink?”
The decision. I know a drink means the date is not
over. I know he wants the date to continue with me crawling into that bed with
him. Why shouldn’t I? If stage dancing is as competitive as Cori indicated, it
can’t hurt me to be dating the owner. Unless he is another Steve Mackenzie and
nothing is mentioned until the next time he wants a tussle.
Hayden said this kind of thing should be between two
people, only. Special. He probably won’t be entwined with Leah later tonight. The
thought comforts me; also, it somehow amplifies the fact that I have no
interest in touching Brody.
“She auditioned on silver sheets.” I remember the
girls’ remarks. Maybe they think I slept with Brody to get this job. My heart
starts to pick up a pace. With the hand that Brody doesn’t hold, I reach up and
pull down the comforter. I have to know the color of his sheets. Brody takes my
action as invitation and springs forward like a leach from some alien movie.
His face burrows my breasts and both arms wind around my waist, exploring. It
takes two hands and double effort to peel him off. He sits back, loving the
game, with big pleading eyes.
“What do you think…?” Something inside me says
run. This won’t be a game to him. I know it like I can hear his thoughts.
He grabs me and spins me around before I can
finish speaking. He irons me to the bed. It’s funny I always think he has pleading,
puppy-dog eyes, because now he’s not gentle—and he’s not asking. I finally have
to pull his hair back to get him off me, and it’s so short I can barely pinch
it. He starts to lurch forward again, and I slap him. He doesn’t even touch his
face, though my hand stings like crazy. He just smiles.
“You’re a dog.” I hate myself that I can’t come up
with something better to say. He begins laughing and I know I better leave, or
he’ll think I’m willing to play. I reach the door in only a few steps.
“See you Monday.” He calls, still chuckling.
I take a quick glance back. In our mêlée, we
skewed the blankets. His satin sheets are indeed silver. Dog. A weekend fling
would have been forgotten on Monday.
It should mean more.
I cross the hall and enter the costume jungle. I
had placed my clothes and shoes in a corner and now I grab them to change. As I
slide out of my ridiculously high heels, I hear movement out in the hall. My
chest constricts. Brody will follow me.
This is when it changes, now it won’t be a game.
I hug my jeans and duck behind a rack of color. My
heart announces where I’m hiding, even if only to me. I try to slow it as the
door opens. Footsteps. Scrape of metal. A warm drop slides down the curve of my
spine. This horrible satin dress is the last thing I want to be wearing at this
moment.
Who is in here? Finally, I peak around the rack,
still hidden, but expecting to see Brody. No one. Two large Peacock-feather wings
swing from a hook on the wall. They have eyes with blue irises, surrounded by
brown and green covering the length of them. They hang like a carcass, waving
in the wind. But it isn’t wind which blows through this room, it’s another
presence.
I am hunted. I am haunted. Sometimes I just know
the curse is near, I feel the spirit.
I pump my arms and feel the sensation of bare feet
meeting the floor. Fortunately, the slit in my dress allows my legs freedom. I
stumble at the stairs, afraid to take them at the pace I left the costume jungle.
I try skipping steps. At the
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