Page 39 of Felix

Slipping out of the house, I close the front door and head to my car. There’s a pinch in my chest as I buckle in, but I brush the sensation off. It’s not disappointment if it’s expected, is it?

My phone pings with a text, a welcome distraction.

Christian: Where are you, Specs? It’s Saturday, which means you should be on your second energy drink by now, doing your smart brainy thing while I (not at all creepily) stare at your ass. Have you been kidnapped? Are you listening to David Attenborough without me?

A smile creeps onto my face, my pulse kicking.

Me: On my way home now.

After only a pause, I add…

Me: Should I cue up the next episode?

Christian’s response comes through before I’ve even turned the ignition.

Christian: I’ll bring the popcorn. Can Arthur eat popcorn or should I bring him regular corn?

Christian: Never mind. I’ll bring both. Hurry your ass up, Specs!

Grinning, I start the car and head for home.

Chapter 10

Christian

“Shit, shit, motherfucking shit,” I hiss, sucking the blood off the pad of my index finger before I wrap it in one of the Band-Aids I keep at my sewing table. I pick up the pin I dropped. “Keep your pointy end to yourself.”

Luckily, the pin doesn’t stab me this time as I secure the pleat in place.

“Fucking better,” I mutter.

A flash of movement in my periphery has me turning my head. Emil is standing inside his bedroom, hand in the air. He stops waving and holds up two ties.

With a huff of laughter, I pick up my phone.

Me: The blue one. Why so spiffy?

Emil reads my text, shoots me a thumbs up, and then throws aside the red tie. He wraps the blue one around his neck, securing it in place before picking up his phone again.

Specs: We’re starting preliminary questionnaires for the research project. I need to look presentable.

Me: Well, you look like a hot professor I would’ve fucked if I’d gone to college, so I’d say mission accomplished.

Emil looks as if he snorts, but then he shakes his head.

Specs: No need to flatter.

I frown.

Me: It’s not flattery if it’s the truth. You look great, Specs. Knock ’em dead.

He grimaces.

Specs: Christ. I hope not.

I’m not sure what to make of that response, but Emil gives a wave before turning and disappearing from sight. I get back to work, pinning the pleats I already ironed into place so I can sew them down.

The skirt I’m working on today is red and similar in style to the black one I’m wearing. I like the design—it’s fun and flirty and shows off my legs. The red will be a little more bold, but I’m sure I won’t have a problem finding an excuse to wear it.

---