Deep 6 (Multiple Love)

"Sure," I say. "Some cities are all about the modern, like Dubai, but then you have cities like London where old and new coexist. The challenges are different." She stands in front of the black and white image of London that I ordered from a photographer in England.

"Charles Dickens loves to mention St. Paul's Cathedral." Her finger traces the outline of the domed building at the center of the photograph. "In David Copperfield, they go to the top of the cathedral to look at views over London. I'd love to do the same one day."

"Me too," I say. "And maybe go to the top of The Shard. It's the tallest building in London."

"Is it this one?" She points at the building that looks like a glass stalagmite, spearing its way from the ground into the sky.

"Yeah. There's a viewing platform on the seventy-second floor."

"Sounds high," she says.

I lean against the door jamb, folding my arms, watching as she turns to place her case on the end of the bed. "Are you afraid of heights?"

Sandy shakes her head, her pretty curls bouncing a little with the movement. "I don't think so. I've just never been that high."

"Me either," I admit.

"So, I can sleep on the couch downstairs," I say.

"You think I've asked to steal your bed for the night," she smiles.

"It's safer not to assume."

"I figure it's probably a good idea for us to get to know each other. You guys are working, so the evenings are going to be the only time."

"Talking in the dark can be fun," I say.

"Whispering secrets like we're at camp." She bites her bottom lip like she's remembering something naughty from her past and fuck me if my cock doesn't come to life at that one tiny gesture.

"I don't have many secrets," I say, venturing into the room and closing the door behind me. Sandy's eyes follow all of my actions.

Below, I hear the slam of the front door and the rumble of voices in the kitchen and den. Eventually, someone flicks on the TV, and my unease settles. If Tyler wasn't happy with Sandy being with me, he'd have made it known by now. As for Greg, I can't imagine that he's pleased she's chosen me. After their little rendezvous today, he was probably expecting her to want to sleep in his bed tonight.

"You wanna use the bathroom?" I ask. "It's through there."

"Yeah, that would be good," she says. There's an awkward moment where our eyes meet, and a buzz of nervous electricity zaps between us. Sharing a room and a bed is a step into intimacy before we've done more than hug in public. It's natural for it to feel awkward.

Sandy begins to riffle through her suitcase, reaching for the nightwear she was dressed in yesterday before freezing. "Do you have a shirt I can sleep in?" she asks.

"Sure." The top drawer of my dresser is filled with shirts, and I find her my favorite soft gray one that's been through the washer a thousand times. It's big on me, so it'll be big on her. When I pass it to her, and our eyes meet again, there's another jolt of feeling between us.

Sandy takes her washbag and towel into the bathroom and closes the door. I don't hear the click of the lock, but I don't imagine that constitutes an invitation. The pipes squeal to life as she twists the squeaky shower handle, and my mind drifts into a fantasy of Sandy's naked body stepping into the water, rivulets running between her breasts and down the seam of her peachy ass.

Fuck. If I was in that room right now, she'd be getting dirtier, not cleaner.

I tug my shirt over my head, loosen my belt and let my jeans drop to the floor. I usually sleep naked but tonight, I pull on a pair of loose gray shorts for Sandy's sake. I don't want to scare the living daylights out of her.

While she washes, I take some time to put my room to rights, and by the time she emerges, pink and pretty from the shower, I'm stacking paperwork at the desk. Her eyes roam my naked torso, landing eventually on my bare feet, and mine scan her like I'm a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. In my shirt, the outline of her breasts is evident enough for me to work out that she's not wearing a bra, and man, does this girl have a rack on her. Little pointy nipples jut through the soft fabric, just begging to be touched. At least, I wish they were begging because I'd happily get my fingers and mouth on them.

"Everything okay?" I ask to break the sizzling silence.

"Sure," she says, dropping her clothes onto the bed and beginning to fold them. The hair around her face is damp, and her curls have the cutest little frizz. Without makeup, her face has some freckles, which I love. I drift to the nightstand, switch on the side lamp, and then turn off the main light, ready to settle in. I feel Sandy's eyes on me, taking everything in. We stand on either side of the bed and smile awkwardly at each other. "Is that your preferred side?" she asks.