My would-be captor snickered merrily. He sat up, lifting his hands in surrender. “I’m the harmless kind. I swear you’re safe, Harry.”
“Harry?”
“Your incognito name. I’m Dick, you’re Harry. By the way, you never yelled ‘oh Dick, give me more dick’ in the heat of the moment. Should I be insulted?”
I snapped the elastic on my boxers and eyed him warily. “What kind of liar are you, Richard?”
“Ouch. The full Christian-name treatment,” he winced.
“Is your name really Richard?”
“No, it’s—”
“Don’t tell me. You are not destined to be someone I know.”
“Exactly. So my issues with honesty don’t affect you. I promise. In fact, it’s the opposite. I don’t know you, and I’ll never see you again.” His strong timbre melted into a barely audible tone when he continued. “And it feels therapeutic to tell the truth to someone. Anyone.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“You were right. I’m bi…not curious. Just bi.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a big secret?”
“The biggest one I have.”
I believed him. His tone was heavy…every syllable carried weight.
I gave him a thorough once-over, lingering on his mouth before meeting his gaze. “I see. You know bisexuality is more prevalent amongst humans than originally thought. In the animal kingdom, it’s widely known that bonobos, black swans, penguins, giraffes, and lions are bisexual.”
He smiled. “Lions too, eh?”
“Yes. And there are others too.”
“Good to know, but prevalent or not…it’s not exactly accepted where I’m from.”
“Oh.”
He stared at the blank wall for a long moment, then glanced up at me. “Are you really OCD?”
“Let’s just say I have tendencies. I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”
“Are perfectionists perfect?” he teased.
“No one is perfect…so they say. However, I strive to achieve the closest level to perfection possible.”
“How’s that going for you?”
“I have dried cum on my stomach as a result of sexual relations with a man who just admitted to being a pathological liar. So my daily grade has slipped from a tenuous A-minus to a D.”
“Whoa! Two things.” He tugged at my wrist, pulling me to sit beside him. “I’m not pathological or chronic. My condition is habitual and has more to do with keeping friends and a job that pays well. And…what’s a daily grade?”
“Just what it sounds like. I assign a letter grade to my daily performance based on three criteria. Professional achievement, personal comportment, and self-betterment.” I yanked my T-shirt over my head. “Thankfully, I had a good day at the lab. Otherwise, I’d be forced to give myself an F.”
He let out a low whistle. “You’re a harsh grader.”
“I am, but in this case, I deserve it.”
“I don’t think so. You took a chance, met a stranger, and had extraordinarily hot sex. I see nothing wrong with this picture. I’m twenty-six, and you’re…”
“Twenty-four,” I supplied.
“We’re adults.” He caressed my ear and my cheek before massaging my neck. “Every once in a while, I think it’s okay to let go of all the rules and just…be. Don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. You know I’m right.” He kissed the sensitive skin under my jaw and scooted closer. “And if we’re never going to see each other again, I think we should make the most of it.”
I leaned into his touch like a needy cat, unthinking. I sealed my lips over his with an undignified whimper that would certainly cost me a few more points. However, since I’d already tipped into a failing personal grade for the day, it didn’t make much of a difference. I might as well enjoy my dalliance with the dark side.
Tomorrow, I promise to be good.
2
Blake
The late afternoon sun bounced off the metal benches in front of the ivy-covered wall and cut a swath of gold across the field. I tipped the bill of my cap against the glare and tucked my clipboard under my arm as I watched the play unfold. It was just a scrimmage, but with a big game coming up, the girls knew better than to slack off. We had one month left in the season. For at least five of the players, this was the end of their lacrosse career. Why not go out on top?
The visiting team’s midfielder executed a perfect pass to their best attacker, who cradled the ball, dodged our defender with ease, and raced toward the goal. I bit the inside of my cheek and paced down the sideline, willing my goalie to be ready when it looked like our defense had rolled out the proverbial red carpet. Carly widened her stance in the cage, shuffling from side to side, following the ball with her stick poised.
When the attacker cocked her elbow and aimed for the net, I knew Carly had it. She sprang to her left to block the shot to the upper corner, catching the ball in her net.
I tossed my clipboard on the grass and pumped my fist. “Woot! Way to go, Carly!”