Page 64 of Lotus

“Yoda lady.”

“Yoda lady, who?”

Her index finger shoots out to point in my direction. “I didn’t know you could yodel, Oliver Lynch.”

Oh, dear.

Sydney laughs at her own joke, lassoing my heart in the process.

“Wait, wait… one more,” she giggles, removing the windswept strands of hair from her eyeglasses with her fingers. “Knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?” I reply.

“Suspense.”

“Suspense, who?”

Sydney goes quiet, staring at me, her eyes twinkling mysteriously.

“Suspense, who?” I repeat through a frown.

She continues to stare, the suspense buildi—

Oh.

I massage the nape of my neck with a hearty chuckle, shaking my head at her. “You’re becoming quite good at these jokes.”

“Yep. I’m very proficient at Google,” she winks back. “So, what are you working on today? Did Alexis sweep in to save me when the Faceless Man had you held up in the abandoned warehouse?”

Sydney is referring to my comics and her interest has me ducking my head, timidity sweeping in. I’m not embarrassed of them, per se, but I went so long keeping them to myself that it’s still exceedingly vulnerable sharing them with another.

Gabe has caught glimpses of my comics, but I have yet to go into detail. Only Sydney is privy to the stories that come to life on those pages.

“Alexis has been captured with me,” I explain, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I’m planning on introducing a new character that will rescue us. Potentially, a redemptive character that is often up to no good, but generally sides with the heroes when it counts.”

Sydney beams at me from a few feet away, the sparkle in her eyes showcasing genuine enthusiasm. “Shit, I love that idea. Redemptive arcs are the best. I’m always rooting for the anti-hero,” she proclaims, tilting forward until her top dips down two inches too far.

I pull my eyes away when the peaks of her breasts tease me, bathed beneath the October sun. The effect she has on me, both physically and emotionally, has grown to a confusing level over the past few months.

We spend an extensive amount of time together.Inseparableis the term Gabe used, and I’m apt to agree. We go for walks, play with her cat, watch movies as we sit much too close together on the sofa. We listen to her favorite nineties’ music, sometimes lying on my bed, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that are still stuck to the ceiling from a different life. I’ve finally grown accustomed to sleeping in my bed, all thanks to Sydney and her request to take a nap together one late-summer afternoon. The prospect of falling into slumber with Sydney beside me, her body heat near, her scent close and potent, her distinct aura calming me, made the transition so much easier. Now I associate the mattress and sheets and box spring withSydney, and the floor doesn’t seem so appealing anymore.

We joke and tease and tell stories, and I often catch her watching me, studying me, the look in her eyes flickering like blue flames. Those are the looks that singe me, scalding straight to the bone, leaving smoke and burn marks in their wake.

But when I return that same look with an eager curiosity, she always pulls back. She retreats into cooler climates, as if she’s afraid we’ll overheat.

It’s apparent that my affection for the girl next door has taken on far more sexual undertones lately. And while I’ve always found Sydney physically appealing, to the point where she’s often made appearances in my less wholesome reveries, those lustful feelings are escalating as more time goes by. They started stewing the moment her mouth met mine, our bodies locked together by forces unseen, only felt, the fire in her eyes consuming us both.

But Sydney got out. She ran from that burning building, while I remained trapped inside, hardly able to catch my breath. I’m still there, waiting to see if she’ll ever return for me, so we can face the flames together.

“Can I stop by later?Pulp Fiction/Fight Clubmovie night?” Sydney hollers over, straightening her posture in the window. “I need to finish up this website, but then I’m all yours.”

Oh, how I wish that were true.

I send her a nod, grateful for any time spent in her company. “I can pencil you in,” I call back, holding up the drawing pencil still clutched in my hand.

She gives a two-fingered salute, then disappears from the window.

“You two are honestly sickening.”

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