Page 12 of Wicked Little Game
But Ruby is justRuby.Her charming little act may fool my dick, but it won’t fool my brain. I don’t know what it is exactly, but something about her just makes my skin crawl.
I tried my hardest to avert my gaze whenever she walked past me, tried to ignore it when she lolled around on that lounger. Despite that, thoughts about her started creeping into my mind. Thoughts that are so dirty that not even a pressure washer straight to my eye socket could get rid of them.
“Everything alright, James? Or do you need me to perform CPR?” she yells with a laugh and I realize that I have been standing in her room like a statue for too long already.
“You left your shit at the pool,” I yell back.
“Thank you for bringing me my stuff. Hey, could you throw my top in here? I don’t want my floor to get wet.”
I clench my jaw so hard that I hear a gratingsound as I walk towards her bathroom. Simple task, Sam. Just throw her stuff in there without looking and walk back out to your room.
As I stand in her spacious, fogged-up bathroom, I once again feel like I’m frozen in place. As if my goddamn dick just took over my spinal cord, keeping me from leaving the unfortunate situation I got myself into.
At least I find the conscience to throw her stuff on the floor before I lean against her sink, gripping the cold ceramic so hard that I hope they did a good job of mounting that thing.
Maybe she put something in my wine. The very wine I saw her pour into my glass and drink as well but I didn’t see her fetch the bottle so she could have—I am aware of the fact that I try to shift the responsibility for all of this towards anything but my own apparent weakness.
The glass of her shower cabin is frosted, and I can only make out her silhouette as she washes herself. She tilts her head back to rinse out her hair, and I wonder if her neck is sensitive. If she’d cry out if I left my mark on her.
The sudden silence after she turns off the shower shakes me out of my horrible daydreams. Ruby holds her arm out to me like a princess, drops of water gliding down her skin.
“Since you’re still here, would you be so kind as to hand me my towel?”
I contemplate leaving without a word, but the prospect of a butt-naked Ruby possibly chasing after me keeps me from doing so. If I give her the dumb towel, she’s at least a bit clothed, andthenI can leave.
Should leave. Quickly.
“Earth to James,” she says. “They are on the shelf right next to you.”
With a grumble, I hand her a big white towel. All of them have her initials stitched on them, and I’m not evensurprised anymore. She’s such a spoiled brat it makes me sick.
I should take some of those towels with me when I leave, though, because they are shockingly soft and I’m getting too old to put up with our scratchy ones. I deserve a bit of luxury.
“Thank you.” She smiles broadly as she steps out of the shower, the towel wrapped around her body, and I wish I had given her a bigger one.
“You need anything else? A massage, a fruit platter?” Shaking my head, I walk towards the door. I need to get out of this room before I do something I regret.
“James, wait,” she suddenly says, and I suppress the urge to storm off.
If I make it too obvious that I need to get away from her, she’ll think that she got under my skin, but if I stay, shewillget under my skin. It dawns on me that I can’t win, no matter what I do.
She looks up at me through her thick eyelashes, a slight red hue on her cheeks from spending the day out in the sun. Her hand lingers on my arm until I glare down at her and she pulls it away.
“Thank you for spending the evening with me,” she says in a sickeningly sweet tone. It’s like honey, but not in a good way. It sticks to the synapses in my brain and makes it impossible to think straight.
“I think you have a heatstroke, you didn’t slam any doors shut in the past hour.”
She just laughs while she walks back to her bathroom and leaves me standing in the doorway like an idiot.
“Goodnight, James,” she says and I finally find the power to leave her room.
I need to take a shower. I feel sweaty and somehow I also reek of Ruby's weird sunscreen, or tanning oil, or whatever sheuses. But I need to take a quick detour before I hop in the shower.
There’s not enough booze in my room, so I walk down to the bar in the living room and grab a bottle of whiskey. I don’t know what to do first, drink or shower, but maybe I’ll take the entire bottle in there with me. If Ruby continues to torment me like this, there won’t be a single drop of alcohol left in this house on the day that I can finally leave.
Eleven more days, and after this evening, I have a feeling that those eleven days are going to be hard for me. In every sense, because while I still have an antipathy towards Ruby, my cock views that differently.
I relish the familiar burn of the whiskey as I sit down on the edge of my bed. A cigarette would be wonderful, but I don’t want to smoke inside of the house, so I stick to drinking and repeatedly running my fingers through my hair. I’ve let it grow out for a while now, but it’s still unusual to feel more than a few millimeters of hair underneath my fingertips.
