Page 17 of The Twins

“Gray?”

“With an E.”

“So, you’re special?”

“I think so.” As her eyes explore me, I feel self-conscious. Vegas would scold me for this feeling with his magic hands…

“Oh, I know so. You look cute in your dress. I love it, and your nails….” Kamila lifts my hand to her face, and I’m struck by her openness. I’m not used to touching people I don’t know, and I should be afraid, but I’m not.

I feel safe.

Vegas is outside of this dark bathroom that’s dripping in sparkling chandeliers.

The room is moody, reminding me of a cleaner version of the brothels my dead husband used to share me in with his friends. I think of Vegas, but it’s not him that has my body reacting.

It’s this woman, whoever she is. Her shirt has an Indianapolis stamp on it. A golden 4 covers her heart. She’s not dressed to seduce. Her style’s a mixture of comfort and confidence. I’ve lived in this country for some time now, but I don’t like sports much. I couldn’t say what this Indianapolis city and the number mean.

“Who did them?” she asks me while she inspects my nails.

“I did.”

“Oh my!” Her thumb caresses my thumb, and I shiver once again. She’s mesmerized by the tiny butterflies on my long nails. “You’re talented.”

“Thank you.” I can’t find it in me to start a conversation because she’s so stunning. Who made this woman? How can she be so confident?

She’s taller than me, and I feel tiny in her presence, constantly having to look up to her. Her grace stuns me, and I can’t not gaze at her. I’m stuck, and I’m sure she thinks I’m insane with my rudeness.

“How do you put it in with such long nails?” Her eyes scan my fingers again, going over the acrylics I’ve dedicated my life to. I opted for long and pointy this week, forgetting that I might get my period. I never think about my period because it hurts me when I don’t have it just as much as it hurts once I get it.

For fifteen months, I’ve been having a somewhat regular period. After spending almost nine years believing that my womb was dead, this is a miracle.

“I usually have an applicator….” Or one of my men does it for me. They like doing it for me, and their questions afterward are always intense.

She tilts her head to the side. Her neck is long and gorgeous. How she moves her body is pure seduction. “Or?”

“My partners.” Instantly, I blush. I don’t reveal this part of myself. It’s mine. I don’t allow Tara to discuss her past adventures with one of my men because they make me furious. They’re my men, and I don’t share them. Never. I shared Martí, and that was enough of a lesson.

Just when I think she’ll step back, Kamila’s tongue sneakily licks her top lip, getting a taste of her pretty lipstick. “How many?”

“Three,” I blurt out, tearing the band-aid. I cringe.

“I’ve got two,” she replies, smirking at me. Her hand doesn’t let go of mine, and I feel like we’re partners in crime, hiding away in this bathroom. Her fingers massage my skin, relaxing me. It’s fine, her movements whisper to me. “Are they waiting for you outside?”

“Only one. The others are at work,” I say. If she’d ask, I’d give her my social security number. I’m legal and all that jazz.

“You want me to grab him for you?”

I shake my head. “I’ll manage. Thank you.”

Rattling myself out of Kamila’s trance, I wash my hands with soap, and she does the same, but the water spills in a different fashion on her skin. The droplets are in their element, making a show out of traveling down her fingers.

I sense her eyes on me, and the feeling’s strangely comfortable. We don’t know each other, and I’ve never felt anything as spontaneous but…

I head into one of the available booths before I do anything stupid.

Lifting my black dress, I bend my knees. With one hand on my phone, and the other on the tampon’s string, I reach between my legs to unwrap the tampon, but I end up scratching myself with my pointy nails instead. I groan in frustration.

“I can be of help,” Kamila offers from afar. She’s still by the sink where we washed our hands. She’s not right outside the booth, stalking me like a maniac would.

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