Tempted
“Okay. I’m waiting. She shifted the chair back to its spot in front of the fire. She snapped the sheets back into place over her bed, running her hands over the pillows. Should I be lying down while I wait?
She stood up, her hand at her chest. Should she take off her clothes? That…that wasn’t what he meant? Was it?
Laughter, incredulous and strained, sputtered out of her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. What, she wondered, am I doing?
“Anne?”
She squealed and jumped, bumping sideways into the bed. Nearly falling over.
He’d cleaned up; his face was pink and freshly shaved. His hair was damp, the blond a darker brown at the wet tips.
“Hello,” she said with a too-wide, too-bright smile. As if they were discussing goats again.
This is what happens when you never flirt at parties. When you linger on the edges, staring at the fringe of the rug.
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