Page 45 of Irreversible

I let my eyes drift closed, my mind wandering for several minutes. The water turns off, replaced by a few rustling noises. “Everything all right?”

There’s no answer.

Then, right on cue, a soft, moaning sound comes from the next room, and I nearly burst out laughing. I realize it’s likelynotwhat my male imagination is conjuring, but far be it from me to interrupt a welcome fantasy while trapped in a nightmare.

One at a time, I stretch my legs in front of me, ignoring the deep ache that comes with exercising newly healing muscles. If I were another guy—a nice, respectful one—I might worry I’ll embarrass her. I’m not, though, and I wonder…

If I made her blush, how far would it go?

Would the tops of her breasts turn the color of?—

Another moan reaches my ears. “Whatcha doing over there, B?”

“The downward dog.”

Wait, what?

My eyes narrow through a smirk. “Isthatwhat the kids are calling it these days?”

There’s a pause, then the telltale creak as she settles onto her cot. “What?”

“I mean, I’ve heard it called a number of things…flicking the bean, petting the kitty, jilling off. But thedownward dog,that’s?—”

Thunk.

“—creative.” I barely manage not to laugh through the word. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

“Are youkiddingme?” It’s the loudest I’ve heard her speak since we became reluctant neighbors.

“Careful, Roger might hear you and catch you with your pants down.”

Thunk.And then another.“It’s a yoga pose. I’m trying to avoid atrophy, not—” She huffs. “You are unbelievable.”

“Listen, I’m a man, and there’s a naked woman on the other side of the wall. And what are you throwing at me?”

“I’m not naked.” She’s clearly exasperated, whileI’mclearly turning into a twelve-year-old boy.

Jesus.

“Thatwas The Lustful Lumberjack.”

She’s throwing her lady porn at me. I can’t stop laughing. “I counted threethunks. What were the others?”

“Moonlight Caress and Twelve Knights of Passion. I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I might have damaged them, and they didn’t even hit your hard head.”

I feign an exaggerated gasp. “Not Twelve Knights of Passion!”

“Chadwick and Alessandra are my favorite, too.”

“You should make sure they’re all right. Life in the sixteenth century is difficult enough without being flung at the wall.”

I realize I’m facing the camera with a ridiculous grin on my face. Roger must be wondering what I’m discussing with hisfavorite girl. I debate sending him a wink and a lewd gesture, but stop myself.

“Let’s see…” Everly hums, rifling through pages, while I picture her standing on the other side of the wall without pants on. “Oh, here we go…” With an audible breath that functions as a dramatic entrance, she launches herself into a character from another time, another place:

“‘Chadwick—’ Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, Alessandra’s gaze flicked to his mouth. Her insides clenched with need. ‘Have you ever been kissed?’”

Curious as to where this will go, I settle back and let the cadence of her voice pull me along.

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