She sticks out her lower lip. “It’s not like I can control it. I’m new to all this, remember.”
“Neither can I.”
We are at an impasse. She lets out a sigh as she rests her head on the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “This is so awkward.”
I have to agree. The way I’ve experienced it, the bond comes first, the telepathy a natural consequence of it. This time, however, there is no bond, just the telepathy. It’s like having a musical instrument in an orchestra but not knowing what part of the piece you have to play.
Clarissa turns her head towards me. “How do you do it? I mean, what if you’re on a date and you find out your date doesn’t like you? Do you just walk away? Or what if you find out your date likes you but you don’t like her? What if you realize she’s lying?”
I scratch my chin. “Actually, I’ve never been on a date before.”
She gasps, sitting up. “No way.”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
“I mean I’m just...” She shakes her head as she lifts her hands then clasps them on her lap. “Surprised, that’s all. I mean, look at you. You’re...not that bad.”
That wasn’t her first choice of words but I let it go.
“Really? The first time you saw me, you thought I looked like a homeless beggar.”
She gapes. “You...”
I shrug, the quilt falling off one of my shoulders. “Can’t control it.”
She frowns. “Well, yeah, that was my first impression but that was before...”
She stops, her gaze falling on my chest. I tense, catching a whiff of that scent of desire off her again but it’s faint and fleeting.
Clarissa stands up. “You know, you really should put on a shirt. Why don’t you go and do that while I bring these bowls to the kitchen?”
Before I can say anything, she picks up the bowls and walks out of the room.
I don’t need a shirt, but I don’t argue, grabbing the white one off a chair and slipping it on.
“Well, that looks better,” she says, nodding in approval when she comes back.
I pull on the hem. “Does it?”
She holds a finger up in the air. “Now, just one more thing.”
She walks around behind me. I can’t figure out what she’s up to. My eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just going to comb your hair,” she answers. “I realize you don’t do that, since I didn’t see a comb around when I was looking for one. I know finger combing is a little awkward, but I’ll be careful. I promise.”
I shake my head. This is too intimate. “No.”
“What?” Clarissa walks around to where I can see her. “Are you scared of having your hair combed or something?”
“It’s not that. It’s...”
“Shh.” She takes a lock of my hair, twirling it around her fingers. “It’s fine.”
She starts combing my hair with her fingers.
Like bolts of lightning, the buzz from her fingertips travels to the root of each hair and spreads through my scalp. The tingling sensation travels down to my toes.
Fuck.