Page 87 of Resist
He brushed my hair away from my ear and murmured, “The various ways I’m gonna position your body when we get to your room.”
My cheeks flushed.
My pussy clenched.
And all of sudden, I couldn’t wait to head upstairs.
* * *
“Matt,you may as welltake a seat,” I shouted.
He lifted his head, the stage light bouncing from his glistening body. “What?” He put his hand to his ear.
“I said you may as well take a seat. You’re too rehearsed.”
Matt screwed up his face but kept dancing, his moves indicating I’d distracted him. When his song finished, he jumped off the stage and sat next to me, his towel in his hands, sweat dripping from his head. “What did you mean by ‘I’mtoorehearsed’?”
“Your performance is perfect,” I answered, now focused on Noah.
“Oh.” He sat back but then leaned forward. “But you said it as if that were a problem.”
“It’s not a problem, it’s just …” I remembered my initial notes on him. “It’s vanilla.”
“Vanilla … as in the ice cream flavour?”
I laughed. “Yes, as in the ice cream flavour.”
“What’s wrong with vanilla?”
“Nothing. A lot of people love vanilla, but some people think it’s plain.”
He scrubbed his face with his towel. “You think my routine is plain?”
“No. I think it’s very clean.” I turned to face him, my stylus pen clamped between my teeth. “I bet you could do it with your eyes closed,” I said, removing the pen and pointing it at him.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Silence settled between us before I spoke again.
“Tell me, are you bored on stage?”
He shook his head. “No, not really.”
I waited for him to continue because I knew he would.
“I mean, my routine is the most cliché.”
“Because you’re the police officer?”
“Yeah.”
“That doesn’t mean your routine has to be cliché.”
“What do you suggest I change?”
“Use your props more. Be creative with them.”
He put his feet on the seat in front. “That reminds me. I can’t find my handcuffs.”
