Page 4 of Frosty Proximity

Peter

As if Ineeded yet another reason my crush on Kara needed to fuck off and die.

I wonder if all of her single clients interested in women have crushes on her because she makes me feel like the sexiest man alive every time I talk to her.

Like right now. Kara looks me over from head to toe. She’s doing her job, studying me and looking for flaws in the outfit she picked out, but then she glances back up and smiles so wide it lights up the room.

“You make that suit look amazing,” she says. “The color brings out the gorgeous shades of gold in your eyes, and it shows off your shoulders. And that haircut still looks perfect.”

She says these kinds of compliments to everyone, I know, but they still make me feel like my heart is melting anyway. I’ve heard her compliment Clara and Nash, too, always centering the compliments on something positive about our bodies.

“I wasn’t sure if you would have time to style the hair,” I say, gesturing at myself.

“Of course,” she says. “Let me finish with Clara, and I’ll be right with you.”

I walk out of the doorway to the bathroom that I’ve been lurking in and retreat to the sitting room. Nash and Bea are sitting on the couch, reviewing notes for the event tonight. Nash looks up and gestures me over, asking me a question about one of the attendees tonight. I take a seat in one of the upholstered chairs next to the couch.

Nash and I didn’t used to work so closely together, but since Rolf, CEO of Heartly, has retired, we’re both taking more of a forward-facing role. Tonight, for example, is a publicity event for Heartly’s Coding Young program. Nash and I are both passionate about getting kids coding as early as possible. My family encouraged me as soon as I could read, and Rolf encouraged Nash. We used to compete against each other in Heartly’s codeathons, and, despite my reluctance to socialize, Nash is one of the few people at Heartly I would call a friend.

“Peter.”

I glance up from the attendee list. Kara approaches with some pomade in one hand.

“Can I?” She gestures at my hair.

“Yes.”

“Good, stay right there.”

I stay still as Kara stands in front of me.

“Sit up.”

I do, straightening my spine.

She nudges my knee with hers, and I make room for her between my legs.

“This height works well and is probably more comfortable than the edge of the tub.” She digs her fingers into whatever is in the container and sets it on the low table, rubbing the product between her hands.

I close my eyes and let Kara work. She runs her hands through my hair and moves my chin with the dry back of her hand as necessary. She talks as she works, murmuring cute little directions at my hair like “yes, you go this way” and “behave” and “right there.”

It’s endearing. That crush that formed after a few video chats blooms somewhere deep inside of me, but I tamp it down. There are plenty of reasons I shouldn’t be attracted to her: I’m her client; she lives in New York; she’s passionate about fashion and appearances, and I’m so inept and careless at that stuff that Ineedher to help me.

And she doesn’t like kids.

But my body does not get the memo, even with my eyes closed. Kara’s fingers push my hair around, dragging against my scalp and sending jolts of heat down my spine. At first, we aren’t touching anywhere else, but then she shifts a little closer, and her leg knocks against my hand.

I move it. Neither of us acknowledges it. Just one more example of how this is Kara’s job, and there’s no reason for her to apologize for being in my personal space.

I don’t apologize because it would be a lie.

She’s warm, and I want to grasp her calves and wrap my fingers around the back of her knees. Who would have thought that was an erotic place?

So erotic my dick is interested too.

The back of the elbow has an unsexy name in English, something that rhymes withpenis.

Wenus. Maybe the back of the knee has an equally unsexy name too.

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