Page 91 of Opening Strain

I crane my neck to see what position she landed. “Number eight isn’t too shabby.”

“Thanks. I’ll do better next time.”

I like her statement because it means she plans on being here long enough to play more games. My gaze roves deeper into this area of the basement, taking in a large TV, sofa, and a jukebox. Nice. “We have some time before we need to leave for The Dancing Goats. How about I see what’s on the jukebox?”

“Can’t take the music away for long?”

“No way. I live and breathe it. Let’s see our selection.” Together, we walk over to the back wall and check it out. “Classics. Elvis Presley, Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra.” I flip through more pages, and am rewarded with more contemporary hits. “Better. They have Cole Manchester, Hunte. The Light Rail.”

Our eyes zero in on the same band. She points, “Untamed Coaster.”

“Yeah, well I’m not stuck up enough to play my own music. How about we try some vintage Cole Manchester, ‘No One to Hold.’”

She shrugs. “I like him.”

He’s a good guy. His wife’s pretty awesome too. “Me too.”

The opening strains begin to sound, and I enjoy his piano playing for a moment. It’s a sad song, for sure, but there’s hope in it too. My arms itch to pull her to my body.

I hold up my hands. “Dance with me?”

She bites her lip. “Bennett, like I said before. Not a good idea. You’re my patient.”

I seize this opening. “Since I’m your patient, you’ll definitely be accompanying me to my doctor’s visit in the City tomorrow.”

“I won’t be needed.”

“What if I forget what exercises I do? Or can’t discuss advanced ones to try? I could even give up the goods about the skater triple flips.”

My deliberate misnaming of the exercise the Asshole made me do today earns a giggle. “They’re called skater steps or skater jumps. I want to try them again with you in our next session.”

I sigh heavily. “Then I’m not even sure I’ll be able to make it to dinner.” I drop all pretense. “It fucking hurt.”

“We’ll do them together and I’ll make sure they don’t give you any more pain.”

“Dance with me,” I repeat. I take one more step forward.

Her shoulders droop. “One song.”

She steps into my embrace and my body jolts. Inhaling her floral scent topped with vanilla, my chin falls to the top of her head. Wesway in time with the rhythm. I’m careful not to aggravate my injury.

Her body relaxes against mine before the second chorus. Even though we’re fully dressed, this feels like the most magical moment of my life. Well, next to the times we’ve kissed and when I made her come.

I want her to be with me.

I want to be worthy of her.

I want to share myself with her.

Following these monumental thoughts, I pull her tighter to my body and enjoy the moment. When the song ends, we remain locked together in silence for a long while. “Come with me tomorrow morning.” I sweeten the pot. “I’m taking a helicopter.”

Her head falls backward. “Really?”

“Yes.” I get lost in her gorgeous grey eyes.

“That’s decadent.”

I need to appeal to her inner control freak. “Practical,” I correct her. “I can be back for an afternoon of PT.”

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