_OceanofPDF

“Christo,” she said, reminding me of the artist’s name. “You have good
taste.”
“Coming from you.”
“Coming from me, what?”
“It means a lot.” I stepped toward her. Not close enough to touch, but
my body didn’t want hers standing in an opposite corner.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” She came another step closer. Still not
near enough to reach. “So, where’s your room?”
“The double doors.” I tilted my head toward the master suite.
“And where’s mine?”
“Behind you.”
She spun around and pushed her way in, standing at the foot of the bed
with her hands on her hips. The walls were drenched with light from the
glass doors that led to a balcony. All things considered, she was just as
fuckable here as the guesthouse.
“What do you think?” she asked, then looked at me. “Which one?”
“Well.” I crossed my arms and rocked on the balls of my feet. “We’re
not fucking. But this room connects, and if you’re here? Late at night, I
might need more distance between us.”
The mischief flashed again and disappeared just as quickly. “Just you?
Why am I the willpower in this arrangement?”
“Do you want to test mine?”
With a flick of her eyebrows, I knew that for a moment, she did. But she
went to the window and pushed the curtains open a couple of inches. The
backyard, the pool, and the guesthouse were below us. Was she doing what
I was? Calculating the distance between us? How many steps. How many
nights.
“But if family visits?” she asked. “What’s our story going to be?”
“You’re using the studio. They can get a hotel.”
“You want me out there then?”
When did I cross the room to stand over her, looking out the window to
where we were imagining her sleeping?
My body wasn’t my own when she was near. My mind hadn’t been in
control since day one. Staying away from her would be that much harder on
day one hundred, and impossible on day three hundred.
“It’s safer,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder as if I needed to do
that to transmit my earnestness.