Page 77 of The Games We Play
I laugh and place the cup back in her hand.
I guess my waking thought was true.
Moments when you feel you are exactly where you are supposed to be in life are rare because you’re meant to realize in that moment just how precious they are.
25
IRIS
Iwait until I hear the grumble of the shower door sliding closed and the splatter of water on the tiles before I leap into action. I find a small bedroom at the back of the house that Spark seems to use as an office of sorts. There’s a filing cabinet and a desk with a laptop on it. There’s an American flag on the wall and images of Spark in the military interspersed with photos from his time with the club. His hair grows longer from one image to the other.
“Shit,” I mutter. I’m not here to look at photographs. “I’m here for Michael.”
But even as I say the words, they don’t quite hit as true.
I should be willing to do this, shouldn’t I?
It should be easy to act in your sibling’s best interest over the man you ...
I stop.
I am not falling in love with Spark.
But maybe ...
I force myself to check in the slightly dented filing cabinet. The drawer opens with the low grind of metal on metal, and I can’t search in it without causing a lot of noise.
I nudge it back into place. I’ll have to look in there one day when Spark is at the store or something.
There are piles of papers on the desk, and I quickly glance at them. One seems to be a letter from his boiler company accepting responsibility for some damage. I glance at the date. It’s from four months ago.
There’s another stack that looks like he’s applied for a permit to build an outbuilding at the bottom of his property. The application says it’s a workshop but needs some revisions to be approved.
I glance at the wall that separates me from Spark in the bathroom, not sure whether I hear something beyond the continued splashing of water.
The laptop is closed, and I open it. As I expect, it needs a password. I try a couple of obvious ones. His date of birth, his name in various combinations. I close the lid again before I get sweat patches beneath the arms of the sundress I’m wearing.
We’re going to a party at the clubhouse, and I want to look good to mask the nerves I have. My first time back there since the whole getting shot thing. I rub my hand across my thigh. I’m not sure I want to go. Because this morning, waking up with Spark, letting him tie me up before we had sex, was so special. Yet, I’m decimating the growing trust between us by snooping. I feel fragile, my nerves already on edge.
When I hear the water stop, I hustle from the office to the bedroom, where I make it to the mirror and pretend to touch up my lipstick as the door opens and steam escapes.
“You look pretty,” Spark says. The navy towel hangs low on his hips, and water rivulets run down his chest.
My heart races as I try to act normal. “I could say the same about you.”
“Don’t look at me like that, or we won’t be going anywhere.” He laughs and pulls the towel off to dry his hair.
“That’s hardly helping.” I take in his body. The tattoos that tell his story cover his arms and chest. He doesn’t manscape, and I don’t mind. I’ve never preferred a smooth chest. “We could stay here and make out some more. You could tie me up again. Or I could tie you up.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and Spark laughs while shaking his head.
“Tying me up is not going happen.” He throws his towel into the laundry basket and steps towards me, cupping my face. “Why do you not want to go to the club?”
“I ... what, I mean, yes, I want to go.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone, and he places a kiss on my forehead. “Iris, you can barely string a sentence together when it comes to what you want sexually. And now you’re offering to stay here and get tied up, and you didn’t trip over a single word. I see what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re trying to distract me with my favorite thing to do with you, so we don’t go to the club. And I want to know why.”
