Page 13 of Flexible Standards

I’m not sure if this is who I think it is, but if you are, what happens in the limousine?

You told me no spoilers, but I know you read it. So…

He enjoys Becca’s cunt as much as I’ve been dying to taste yours since you left this morning.

Jodi snatches my phone from me. “Stop! I was reading that!”

“Oh, shit, you weren’t kidding,” she laughs, scrolling my texts with Sam. “Even Travis isn’t this smooth. It’s fine, I’ll help you.” She types out a response as I swipe for the phone. “There. You’re welcome.”

I check the messages, and I’m mortified.

Find me among the stacks if you want another taste.

“Jodi!” I shriek. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I said, ‘you’re welcome!’”

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I ignore the incoming text, stuffing my phone in my pocket.

The last few hours have been uneventful, though I’ve been on edge, worried Sam might show up at the library. There are two unread texts from him, and I refuse to check them until later. I’m still undecided whether or not I should go to dinner with Sam, or if I should just keep last night as a perfect memory. What if we have nothing in common? What if he likes black licorice? What if he doesn’t like dogs? What if he lied and enjoys nonfiction more than his fantasy books?

There are too many variables.

With Jodi’s bachelorette party continuing tonight, we both requested the rest of the day off work to ensure we had time to primp before the show tonight. Jodi and the bridesmaids have big plans for the evening, but the moment the show is over, I’m pretending I have a headache and bailing—even if I don’t go to dinner with Sam. I love Jodi, but I have no desire to bar-hop or ogle half-naked men after some circus performance she’s forcing me to watch.

We head to the show, and once I’m seated in the auditorium, the lights dim and the performers begin. After a few minutes, I’m surprised that, in fact, I’m a woman who enjoys watching half-naked perform on a trapeze and various silk drapes. The man on the trapeze swings to his partner, their arms and hands locking, while the other performers tangle themselves in panels of fabric like some sort of elaborate pilates. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be wrapped in the rope and tapestries hanging from the ceiling. Something about being bound in the silk seems… freeing.

The trapeze artist lets go of his partner and somersaults through the air, gripping the trapeze bar on the other side. His back muscles flex, and I do a double-take, squinting to get a better look.

I know that back…

He pulls his legs onto the bar and hangs upside down.

I know that chest…

My heart stops as I watch the man who made me come five times last night catch the other man flying in the air toward him.

I close my gaping mouth, but Jodi absolutely caught me. “He’s hot, right?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Hot.”

Both of the men flip and land in the netting; the crowd applauding them. I don’t take my eyes off Sam as they make their way to four loops of fabric. He says something to the other man, then walks toward the edge of the stage. The rest of the performers are climbing tall poles or twisting and turning around the fabric panels as Sam walks down the steps into the audience. We’re in the fourth row, and there are no less than twenty bachelorette parties here. I’m sure he’ll pull a bride-to-be on stage for the performance, if that’s part of the show.

The other man leaves the stage down the steps on the other side. He zeros in on Jodi, offering his hand to invite her to join them. Sam is about to do the same for another future bride when he glances over at his partner to see who he chose but spots me.

Time stops and we both pause, a sweet smile painting his face. He crosses the auditorium and curls his finger at me. I sink into my seat, hoping it’s just my imagination and he’s asking someone else. When I don’t move, he continues toward my aisle, and once he’s towering above me, he offers his hand like the other man did to Jodi. The ladies around me are swooning, but the moment I place my hand in his, goosebumps erupt on my arms, and my breath catches. How he’s even more attractive than last night is beyond me.

I stand, earning applause from the audience, and he leads me to the stage. Once out of earshot of the crowd, he whispers, “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” I glance around to make sure no one can hear me. “You’re a circus performer?”

“I prefer trapezist, but yes,” he laughs.

I can’t fucking believe this. How did it not come up last night? I think back to the bar; there was flirting, but no typical get-to-know-you conversation. At his place, we read… and fucked. Though, I’m not sure I’d call it fucking.

The garage.

I fucking forgot about the garage. He told me he was a performer.

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