Page 26 of Playing it Safe
"This is fine," I tell Puck, who has followed me into the kitchen, likely worried I’ve lost it completely. "This is a completely normal thing to do for a friend."
Puck tilts his head, watching me.
I wash the pitcher and refill it at the tap, standing at the sink and staring out the window at my backyard. It feels like rain.
The timer says eight minutes.
She's touching herself. Right now. Her fingers on her skin, her breath catching, her powerful thighs tensing. I grip the edge of the counter, and my knuckles go white.
Twelve minutes. I'm going to die. This is going to kill me. I'm going to be found dead in my kitchen, clutching a phone with a stopwatch running. Spinner will find me with my face half-eaten because my cat will treat me like a buffet.
I walk back to the couch and pick up Puck, hoping for cat cuddles. Of course, he protests, but at least he stays. I scratch behind his ears, trying to slow my breathing.
Fifteen minutes. Seventeen. Nineteen.
I think about her mouth. The way she kissed me in the car — decisive, certain, pulling me toward her by the shirt. The way she tasted. The sound she made when my hand moved along her thigh. What would she sound like right now?
Twenty-one minutes. I stop breathing.
My phone lights up.
Briar
Time!
I stop the timer. Twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds.
I exhale. My hands are shaking, which is absurd. I type back:
23 minutes. That's perfectly respectable.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Briar
Really?
Me
Strong baseline, Beckett. We can work with that.
Briar
We?
I stare at the phone. I stare at it for a long time.
I type:
Goodnight, BB.
Briar
Goodnight, Coach.
I put the phone face down on the couch cushion and stare at my wall. Puck purrs against my stomach. The house is quiet and dark, and I have a very uncomfortable problem I'm choosing not to address. If I touch myself right now, I'll be thinking about her, and that feels like crossing a line.
Except now I know how long it takes Briar to come, alone in her bed. A powerful force pulses inside me, wanting to help her beat her time. Wanting to see her face as she tips over that edge. Wanting to be the one to bring her that pleasure.
