Page 12 of Spread Me
Mads presses closer to her to make room for Saskia. On Kinsey’s other side, Jacques and Nkrumah cram themselves together to look into the exam room window. Mads taps on the glass, and even though Domino was already looking in that direction, their expression sharpens.
“Hey D,” Mads calls. “I know this sucks, but it’ll be over soon, okay? Can you just, uh. Sorry about this,” they add, apparently realizing what they have to ask and how it’s going to sound. “But can you take your shirt off for us? Or just stop holding the front shut, maybe?”
Kinsey shakes her head. “Off,” she insists. She doesn’t want them to be able to hide anything.
Domino walks toward the window. They come close, unreasonably close, so close that their breath fogs the glass.
“Kinsey,” they say softly. “This is nuts. Just let me out, and we can talk this over. I know I probably came on too strong—”
“Wait, you really made a move on Kinsey?” Jacques interrupts, sounding more than a little betrayed.
“That’s a wild choice,” Nkrumah says. “Like… it’s Kinsey. You don’t—”
Mads cuts her off. “The shirt, D,” they say, firmer this time. “Please.”
Domino hesitates. Their grip on the fabric is tight. “I don’t want to.”
“We shouldn’t make them if they don’t want to,” Saskia says.
Kinsey slams her palm against the glass. Everyone jumps at the noise. Everyone except Domino. “I don’t care what they want,” she hisses. “I didn’t want to be backed into that exam table. You think the specimen fell down all by itself? I knocked it over while I was trying to get away from them.”
“You didn’t want to get away from me,” Domino murmurs.
Nkrumah looks across Jacques at the rest of the team. “What did they say?”
“She can’t hear me,” Domino says again, even softer this time. Their eyes are locked onto Kinsey’s, their lips barely moving. As she watches, their pupils slowly shrink to pinpoints. “But you can, can’t you? You know why,” they add. “We have a bond. Me and you, Kinsey.”
Kinsey slams her palm against the window again. “Take the fucking shirt off,” she yells. Spittle flies from her mouth, flecking the glass in front of her.
Domino’s lips twitch upward at the corners, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Sure. No problem. I just wanted it to be you who was asking.”
They twitch the fabric apart, letting it fall open to reveala scant sliver of deep bronze flesh. Kinsey’s heart stutters at the sight. She doesn’t understand her own reaction—can’t understand it—hates it. She doesn’t want Domino. She isn’tattractedto Domino. So why does she feel the urge to run her tongue across that sliver of flesh?
They tug the shirt off one shoulder, coy. They run their finger across the length of one collarbone, nudging the collar of their shirt until it falls off their shoulder. The sleeves of their shirt fall to the crooks of their elbows and they hug it around themself, turn their back and wiggle their shoulders like a burlesque dancer.
Saskia lets out a breathy laugh. Kinsey glances over and sees that Mads is wearing an indulgent smile. All of them think that Domino is taking this ridiculous interrogation with good humor, she realizes. They think their colleague is being a good sport in the face of the boss’s obvious derangement.
She digs her fingernails into the meat of her palms. They’ll see. They have to see.
Finally, after a long striptease, Domino lets their shirt drift to the floor. They stand in front of the exam room window, half-naked, their arms held out, their palms up. They haven’t lost that easy smile, that open gaze. Everything about them radiates innocence.
Kinsey feels Mads freeze beside her. She glances up and sees that their wry smile has vanished, replaced by a perfectly blank expression. She looks back at Domino, then lifts a finger and gives it a grim twirl. “Arms up,” she says, “and spin.”
Domino lets their head drop to one side, the perfect picture of bemused exasperation. They turn once, slowly, their hands above their head. “See anything you like?”
Kinsey glances around at her team again. Saskia’s facehas drained of what little color it had. Nkrumah’s lips have vanished, pressed tight into her mouth. Jacques looks like he needs to get to the nearest trash can.
“Thanks, Dom,” Mads says at last, completely unreadable. “You can put your shirt back on.”
“And then I can come out?” Domino asks plaintively.
“We need to talk to Kinsey first,” Mads replies. “Get her calmed down, maybe sedated. Then, yes, we’ll take the tape off the door and you can come out.”
Kinsey’s gut twists as she looks up at Mads, searching for an explanation in their face. “But—”
“Come on,” Mads says firmly, grabbing Kinsey by the elbow and tugging her toward the hallway. “Let’s get you settled. Team, will you help me with her?”
“Sure thing.” Nkrumah takes Kinsey’s other elbow.
