Page 29 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“Me? Oh, totally. Totally fine.” In contrast, my voice had a false, annoying ring to it.
“Totally fine.” He eyed me suspiciously before lowering my tank top over my bra. “OK.” He seemed so different—spoke differently, moved differently, acted differently—when he wasn’t turned on.
Then again, I did too. And the transition from one to the other was a little rough.
He unwrapped my legs from his waist and gently extracted himself from me. I sat on the floor, arms immobile over my head, as he disposed of the condom into the empty carry-out bag and bunched it up. Finally he zipped up his pants and reached into his pocket. A moment later, the cuffs were off and my wrists were free.
My arms came down slowly, as if they were floating. It was like that feeling you’d get as a kid when you did the thing where you press your arms away from your body in a doorway, and when you step away, they float up on their own. My fingers were a little numb, and I flexed them, working the blood flow back into my hands. My wrists were sore, and I imagined they would be pretty bruised up tomorrow.
I’d have to wear long sleeves to Thanksgiving dinner and have an excuse ready if my mother caught sight of them.
Because girls like me did not do what I’d just done.
Especially with boys like Charlie Dwyer.
Oh, God. Reality sank in deep. I’d had handcuffed sex in my dance studio with Charlie Dwyer, and he was still standing there looking at me.
What was I supposed to do now?
Pants.
Pants would be good here. I reached for mine as Charlie picked up the trash.
“I’ll be right back,” Charlie said, heading out of the room. I heard the back door being unlocked and figured he was disposing of everything in the dumpsters behind the building. He was gone longer than necessary, in my opinion, and I wondered if he was out there berating or congratulating himself. Was he sorry things had gotten out of control again? Jesus, I hoped not. How embarrassing if he came back in here and apologized! And then what would I say? Sorry I sat on your face like that?
A second later I heard the door open again. I fastened my bra and stood up too fast, grabbing the barre when my vision clouded. I stayed still as the fog cleared.
“Everything OK?” Charlie’s voice came from behind me.
“I already said it was.”
“I know, but you’re standing there holding onto that barre for dear life. I know I’m good, but I don’t think I’ve ever paralyzed a woman before.”
I gave him a dirty look over my shoulder. “I’m not paralyzed. I’m just dizzy. I got up too fast.”
“You shouldn’t do that.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Listen, Erin…” He jingled his keys in his hands, and I turned to face him.
Oh no. Please don’t apologize, Charlie. I will die.
“I don’t want you to think that I just came back here tonight to, uh, fool around with you.”
“Oh, thank God.” My shoulders relaxed. “I thought you were going to say you were sorry.”
His eyes widened. “Sorry? No, I’m not sorry at all. Are you sorry?”
“No. I’m not. I mean, I don’t really get what we’re doing with each other, but…” I ran a thumbnail along the barre, scraping at some nail polish someone had gotten on it. “I’m not sorry.”
“I don’t really get it either.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “There’s just something about you. And when you came on to me like that…”
I gaped at him. “Wait, you’re blaming me? After ditching your date and showing up here at eleven o’clock at night with takeout and beer?”
“Calm down, I’m not blaming anyone. I just meant that I don’t usually go for your type.”
I continued to gawk at him, finally placing a hand to my chest. “I’m not your type? Ha!”
