“Aren’t you supposed to be a survivalist or something?”
“Pfft. Ha! Now, who has jokes? Me, a survivalist? Why? Because I know a few things about food preservation?”
“Well, don’t they kind of go hand in hand?”
“I wouldn’t know. I saw this bottle when we were going through your kitchen. Figured we could use a little escape.”
“Isn’t that just going to leave us dehydrated? And we’re rationing water right now, so that doesn’t seem like the best idea.”
“It’ll be fine. Besides, if we run out of water, we can always recycle our piss.” My face soured at the thought. I hoped he was joking because there wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be drinking urine. Let’s hope this storm passes in a matter of days, not weeks, otherwise I don’t know how long I can hold out against that promise. “If drinking your own urine doesn’t seem to do it for you, I don’t mind sharing mine.”
He nearly choked himself with laughter at the suggestion, clutching the glass in his hand, holding it over his stomach as he keeled over. His whole body shook until he fell into the couch like a child. There was something admirable about how carefree he seemed to be, like he didn’t take things too seriously. That wasn’t the first time I’d wondered about his life outside of my house, but it was the first time I felt compelled to ask him. I knew I shouldn’t though. Nothing good would come from getting to know him. It was just supposed to be a one-night stand, and even though it turned out not to be, I was trying to treat it with the same premise.
No sex. No details.
“Blaire, you’re too stiff. Trust me. We’ll be fine. If it makes you feel better, I’ll make it an option. How does that sound?”
He sat across from me, one arm sprawled across the back of my couch and his ankle resting atop his opposite knee. His body, if not those eyes, tempted me to indulge in whatever he had in mind, regardless of his suggestion. I knew whatever words lingered on the tip of his tongue were ready to strike like poison, crippling me to whatever he desired. So far it’d been a struggle trying to resist him, but with alcohol entering the mix, I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to hold up my defenses.
“How does what sound? You still haven’t told me what I’m agreeing to.”
His eyes searched the room, roving over everything from the furniture to the little trinkets in the media console. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but when his eyes landed on mine again, he seemed to be satisfied by what he’d found there. I tried not to think of myself as one of those objects.
“Let’s play I Spy—”
“Aren’t we a little too old for that?”
“I wasn’t done. I was going to suggest we spice it up. What do you say? The loser has to either take a shot or remove an article of clothing.”
I looked down at my bare feet, for the first time wishing I didn’t like the feel of cool tiles beneath my toes. Maybe then I would have had more articles of clothing to part with. My disappointment must have been evident because he said, “And what you have on is what you play with. No changing.”
Something about him saying that made me wonder what exactly was beneath those shorts. He had said he liked to feel free. I might have a leg up after all.
There were so many things wrong about this I didn’t even know where to start, but time seemed to pass so slowly, and I convinced myself it wouldn’t hurt to look. I wasn’t acting on anything.
“Fine, but I go first.”
“Why, of course. I am a gentleman after all.”
“Hmm,” I grunted. He was a gentleman in some respects, but I wasn’t going to agree with him. He already seemed to have a big enough ego as it was. I would hate to contribute to it getting any bigger. Especially since I thought turning him down for sex had brought him down a peg or two. I would have hated to reverse any long-term good I’d done for women across Vegas. Although, I wasn’t so sure that all my hard work wouldn’t be evaporated at the first bimbo who bounced her cleavage his way.
Like a stranger, I looked at my house with fresh eyes. It was just a rental, so it wasn’t anything that I would want for myself, but seeing as how I was never really there, I hadn’t put much thought into the mostly sterile walls and dated tiles covering the living room floor.
Vegas homes are odd. The home was built in the 90s but was the equivalent of an 80s home anywhere else in the nation. A hexagonal light hung from the ceiling in faux crystal and gold above the front door. The fan above my head had blades of untreated pine covered with a light collection of dust bunnies, with a white dome of filtered light that usually shed little more light than a candelabra. On the wall behind the couch and just to the inside of the front door was a large painting I found at Homegoods that reminded me of the beach and summers spent at the lake with my family. The painting was abstract with swishes of blue and green, beige, and specks of red. If you looked hard enough, it almost looked like a creek surrounded by cattails and a field of poppies not far off in the distance.
I had already found my first “I Spy” object, but the purpose of the game was to not reveal the source. I’d spent one too many family road trips with an annoying little brother in the seat beside me. I found the only way to keep him busy was to play games—I Spy being the easiest one to play in a car going forty miles an hour and a small window to guess before the object could disappear into the rolling heat dancing above the paved road. Needless to say, I was a pro at this game.
“I spy something…brown.”
He spoke around a sly smile, containing the reason for his amusement, “I see how you want to play this.” Joel looked around the room, presumably taking in every piece of brown that could be found in over a dozen items littered about the room.
“Which one is your goal? To get me naked or get me drunk?”
His eyebrow lifted when he realized I wasn’t touching that question with a ten-foot pole. “A woman with secrets. I like my women with a bit of mystery.”
“Well I guess it doesn’t matter in my case because I’m not your woman.”
“That’s open to interpretation because there’s still a pair of panties in there that would disagree with that statement.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Look, are you playing or not?”
“So eager, pretty bird.” He shook his head, laughingly.
“I’m going to guess…” he looked at the media table holding the TV. It’s the largest bit of brown in the room and the most obvious, “the chair in the dining room.”
I don’t know how he guessed right, especially since I purposely avoided looking at the chairs for any real length of time. There was no giveaway in how long I looked at it, and I made sure to spend an equal amount of attention on all the other furniture around me.
“How did you know?” I asked sincerely.
“Uh-uh. I’m not telling, and I believe you owe me something.”
He looked me up and down, his eyes already peeling off the clothes he wanted removed first. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me naked so quickly. Pace yourself.
“Bottle.”
I held my hand out to take the bottle resting against his thigh where he tossed it after he sat down. This is going to be a long game if I have to sit through what could be another hour of that smug smile. I’ll just have to use that as incentive not to lose. I could see he was the type of winner who liked to gloat, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.