Page 40 of Sirens
Something he was absolutely not imagining her doing…
Oh fuck.
“‘Ariadne’s Anchor,’” he murmured, the whorls of his thumb smoothing over the rough, dusty vellum paper as he tried to think of something—anything—else. “Everything on this menu is five pennies to five bucks, but this one costs thirty dollars in the 1890s?”
“No helpful pictures or descriptions like the others… It must be some real hardcore kinky shit,” she replied. “What do you think? Group stuff? Butt stuff? LGBTQ stuff?” Her eyes widened, and she shook his arm. “Do you think it’s LGBTQ group butt stuff? Before I dropped out of college, I used to have these roommates that would pay to go to parties where they would?—”
“Know what? I think that’s probably a question for the Google gods,” he said before she could say anything that further revved his libido.
He was a man. A man who had control of his own body and mind. He knew better than to act like a fool.
Think unsexy thoughts. Paperwork overtime. Morning wheatgrass shots. My sophomore golf instructor, Mrs. Garcia, and her curly-haired neck mole.
Oh, good. It worked.
Kinda.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if it came with a side of vitamin C to ward off the scurvy,” Maggie said to herself, unable to resist the easy volley of innuendo between them. “If I were to pick, I thinkI’d do this ‘Fanny’s Feathered Slap and Tickle.’ I don’t know what it is, but I love a good spank, and feathers are fun.”
Jesus H. Truman Capote Christ, hecouldn’tknow that about her.
Where did I leave off? Mrs. Garcia’s mole. That weird green color that happens to refrigerated cured meats. Open abscesses. Fox News anchors of any gender.
Whew. Boner dead again.
He placed the pamphlets back where he’d found them, making sure the edges of the decades of dust lined up as if they’d never been disturbed. What he needed was to move on. “Let’s see what else?—”
Maggie opened her Dolce leather tote and arm-swiped the entire paper stack into the depths. “Digging for oil and struck gold! Hell yeah. High five!”
“Hell no, as it happens,” he replied, pointing at the now-empty cupboard and leaving her hanging. “You can’t take anything from here. It belongs to Mayor Stewart. You’ll have to put those back.”
“Oh, come on, McGarvey, he’s the kind of guy that docks his pet’s ears and tails and says it’s better that way, then goes home to eat his soup with a fork. Who cares? He probably doesn’t even know they exist. It’s basically garbage, and you can legally go through garbage.”
Trent let out a wry sound of disbelief. “That’s actually super illegal in almost every state.”
“Is it?” Those damn Betty Boop eyes again. “Oh. Well… That’s a thing I know now, and I have totally never broken that law. Anyways, onward!” She held her arm out as if it held a rapier and made to goose-step away.
“Hold on there, Napoleon—you have to put the pamphlets back.” He caught her elbow and gently dragged her back.
She rolled her eyes so hard he actually worried they’d get stuck. “Hey, man, don’t bust my lady balls, just look the other way. Pretend you’re letting me off a speeding ticket and you can totally get me next time. Cuffs and everything. I’ll even let you do the frisk.” She bounced those eyebrows again and did a little shoulder shimmy.
Damned if he didn’t actually find himself considering it.
At his stone-faced silence, she made a rude expression he hadn’t seen since elementary school, dug in her bag for the papers, made a dramatic show of organizing them, and placed them back on the shelf with the same exactness he’d shown. “Man… Madame Katz might have killed thirty-three dudes, but she’d be impressed by how fast you can murder a vibe.”
“We were all born with our own gifts.” He grinned, noticing that she clutched her tote tighter, tucking it over her shoulder and the opening to the bag beneath her arm. Suspicious, Trent picked up the pamphlets and counted them, realizing he’d not counted to begin with so wouldn’t know if the exact number had made it back onto the shelf. “Is this all of them?”
“Far as I can tell.” She shrugged. “Let’s do this.”
“Show me your bag.”
“Show me your warrant.” Her chin jutted all the way forward, and for a second the teasing took on a serious edge.
If he pushed her, she’d push back. Or clam up and cut him off.
His entire life, he’d been trying to learn how to better pick his battles. Maybe now was a good time to put that into practice. With a sigh, he relented, shutting the cupboard and gesturing for her to continue.
Her smile outshone the beam of his flashlight.
