Page 39 of Text Appeal

He pauses. “Between you and me, the contents of your pocket makes for a great diversion.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Are you ticklish?”

“Not particularly.”

He grunts. Whatever that means. Then he asks, “Any snacks in here?”

Oh, I have something he could eat alright. But there’s no way I am telling him that. “Of course. Who doesn’t carry a cupcake in case of emergencies?”

“You’re a sensible woman.”

“Thanks. No. No snacks. That’s why we need to get to the cheese.”

“She’s still standing near the food table. I don’t mind going over. Though we’d probably wind up getting into it again with her.” He continues the treasure hunt unabated. “Door key.”

“Mm.”

“This would be easier if you stopped squirming. Now what do we have here?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Money.”

“You sound like you disapprove.”

“How could you think I wouldn’t cover everything?” he asks. “You’re doing this for me. Seems the least I can do.”

“Having cash on me has nothing to do with you. My mom raised me to always have a backup plan.”

He considers it for a moment. “Your mom sounds smart.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick. It’s still strange being this close to him. Having his face right next to mine and feeling the warmth of his breath on my skin. There are times I’ve almost gotten to third base without getting this close to someone. But if I can fake having feelings, then I can also fake not having them. Such is the power of live theater. “The, ah, twenty belongs in my back pocket. With my bank card and ID.”

“Allow me. Left butt cheek or right?”

“Left, please. What a gentleman you are.”

“Thanks. I find it interesting that there’s a system to the content of the pockets. How committed to it are you exactly?”

I shrug. “I just like things the way I like them.”

“Of course you do.” He carefully withdraws both his hand and the money. Then he just as carefully tucks it into my back pocket. “I’m not groping you. Just don’t want it to slip out or something.”

“Okay. Is your inventory over? Are we done?”

“Not quite. There’s still something down the bottom,” he mutters as he tucks his fingers once more into my front pocket. “It’s little and smooth. The tips of my fingers brushed up against it a couple of times.”

“Oh. I know what you’re after.”

“Don’t tell me.” His fingers rub against my lower body and upper thigh. It’s a sensitive region and there’s only the thin cotton of my jean’s pocket between him and actual skin. He’s thoroughly committed to continuing his probe. His long body is all but hunched over and wrapped around me to keep me in place. “I have to guess, Riley.”

“Dexterous thing, aren’t you?”

“I work with my hands.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Sweet Baby Jesus. This is intense. It’s possible I am experiencing a second sexual awakening. My first came care of Marlin inFinding Nemo. I am not proud. But I highly doubt I am the first weird child with a daddy fetish. And better than that, a fish fetish.

But I digress.

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