BUTTERFLIES
18
Evie : I think we’re finally getting there
Evie : From what I overheard, Ikram and Jack are starting to flirt a little.
Prudence : What? Since when? Jack told me he was going to ask him out after we came back to the house Friday night, but he didn’t say when.
Evie : He still hasn’t.
Evie : I think they’re testing the waters.
Prudence : You can’t drop a bomb like this when I’m already a little late for work.
Evie : Sorry?
Evie : I’ll watch them like a hawk today and I’ll report back to you.
Prudence : That’s what I needed to hear.
PRUDENCE
When I step downstairs, jumping on one foot as I slide my heels on—how am I not already dead with a broken neck is still a mystery—the delicious smell of coffee welcomes me.
And as a coffee goblin, of course I follow the delicious smell only to find Jack waiting for me, standing and leaning against the counter with a shit eating grin.
Oh boy, what have I walked into?
“You look like you’re in a good mood,” I say, taking the cup he nicely offers.
“I’m feeling great. Nate just left and I’m not hurting as much as usual, I have a medical appointment that Ikram is taking me to this afternoon, and I have a call meeting with my agent in a few minutes about the book I finished back in Seattle.”
I nod, taking a sip. “Looks like a busy day.”
“Yeah,” he sighs dramatically, turning around to take a cube of sugar for his coffee. “But Nate left in a hurry because he had something to do at home and forgot his phone. I don’t have time to bring it to him, but since he’s taking you to work soon, maybe you can take it over for me?”
My eyes narrow in suspicion. Something’s off with the way he’s asking me to do this. He avoids looking at me so I don’t see his face. His tone is flat, nonchalant, but it sounds forced.
He doesn’t want to do it himself. Did they argue about something?
“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks, grabbing a spoon and dipping it in his cup before holding the phone in front of me. “I don’t want to be late for my call.”
I check the time on the wall clock. There’s still at least thirty minutes before we have to leave for the precinct as I’ve been asked to come in late today—something to do with overtime that I’m supposed to discuss with the chief around 3 this afternoon. If I go now, it might be awkward, especially knowing that it’s been awkward for the last couple of days.
One can’t simply have a hard on against your ass for two hours without it becoming weird in the following days. Maybe it wouldn’t be as weird if I could actually stop thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Fucking fantasizing about it.
Which I have to. It’s got to stop.
I can’t be thinking about my brother’s best friend cock digging into my rear all the damn time. It’s not healthy for my poor brain, nor practical for my constantly soaked underwear.
But if I don’t go now, he might be looking for it. What if there’s an emergency and he needs to make a call? It’s already 11a.m, he might not remember he forgot it here in the first place. There’s a chance he had other appointments before or after coming here.
With a groan I turn around, snatching the phone from Jack’s hand. I grab my purse on the way to the door and drag my mumbling self the few feet separating the two houses.
I force myself to knock confidently and wait. One second. Two. Three. Ten.
I’m still counting in my head when the door opens and I’m almost shoved backward by a furry streak, only saved by an arm suddenly holding my waist.
The furry streak comes back, bumping against my legs and pushing me forward against the body attached to the saving arm.
And I yelp.
Yelp . Like a fucking damsel in distress.
“Go back inside, Matcha,” he scolds, now holding me with both arms. I feel the fur brushing my legs again before disappearing inside the house. “You okay?” Nate asks me, his voice now softer.
“I’m—” going to die if I don’t put some distance between us, “fine. I didn’t know you had a—” I lean to the side, watching the dog sit behind him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, tail sweeping behind him happily. “A dog?”
Wait. I know that dog. It’s the Australian Shepherd I saw on that day I was running in the heat wave. The dog that was also the drawing that I still haven’t named. The drawing he looked at when Jack re-introduced us. Which means, Nate might have been the man I was ogling on that day, while remembering him for the first time in ages.
“He’s not my dog,” Nate chuckles, the sound and air hitting my temple causing shivers to run down my spine. “I watch him three times a week for a patient of mine.”
Oh. That’s good. Maybe it wasn’t him playing fetch shirtless in the park. Maybe it was his owner.
The dog tilts his head to the side, studying us.
“Why are you here, Prudence?” Nate asks in a low voice, forcing my attention back on him.
Which is a bad move on my part. As I snap my face back towards him, my eyes land on his parted lips before lifting slowly to his eyes.
Curiosity. Surprise. Satisfaction?
I twist in his arms and he exhales a stuttering breath, letting me go.
“Your phone,” I say, lifting it slowly, still enraptured by the color of his eyes, the shape of his lips, his intoxicating smell. The memory of — “Hum,” I clear my throat, taking a careful step back. “Jack asked me to bring it back to you.”
He studies me, his eyes narrowing, jaw twitching.
“How thoughtful of him.”
My throat bobs.
From the corner of my eye, I see Matcha standing up and jumping, yapping with excitement towards us.
“Hey, my boy! Come here! Come here!”
On the street in front of the house, a cab has just parked. An old man calls for the dog from the back seat, his door open.
“Thank you for watching him,” he tells Nate as the dog rushes to join him. “We’re leaving for Florida in two days. Staying for a couple of months with family.”
Fuck. The shirtless man in the park was definitely not him.
“Careful with that hip of yours,” Nate says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Don’t worry, I called your guy,” the old man chuckles. “I have my first appointment in two days.”
Nate nods, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
“I’ll send your file.”
“I’ll send you pictures!” The man says, as the car starts driving.
“Please, don’t.”
I can hear him laugh even after the car takes the turn to exit our little street. When I look back towards Nate, his gaze is already focused on me.
He snatches his phone out of my hand and says, “Alright, let’s get going.”
The door closes and he locks it before heading towards his car. I follow him, a confused frown pulling down my brows.
“Wait, there’s still time before I have to leave, you don’t—”
“I have back to back consultations at the precinct today, so I’m heading early to prep my room.”
Back to back consult — “Wait, you’re going to be at the precinct all day?”
I climb on the passenger seat and close my door right as he starts the car. He lifts a brow in my direction.
“Indeed, will that be a problem for you?”
My face flushes, and I busy myself with the seatbelt, taking a dramatic amount of time attaching it. Will it? Be a problem? I guess if he’s busy treating agents and I’m sitting at my little desk doing my paperwork while waiting for someone to need a sketch, I won’t be seeing him much.
Probably won’t stop me from thinking about him, though. Which, let’s not fool ourselves, I would have done anyway.
“No, no. No problem at all.”
He leaves his parking spot and starts driving. I feel his eyes on me and meet his gaze.
“Good. Because since you confirmed with the detectives that you and I are actually dating, it would be weird if you had.”
I’ve actually been busy enough not to think too much about Nate. Or Friday night’s incident. The moment we stepped into the open space, Nate was pulled away by the Chief who had some form for him to sign and then was pushed right into his makeshift room.
I, on the other hand, was called for a sketch barely five minutes after I sat on my chair. I then rewarded myself with a large piece of pepperoni pizza and went to tackle my paperwork.
Which I finished about ten minutes before Jane came to sit at my desk.
“Prudence! How are you? I feel like we barely had the time to chat since you started.”
“I’m fine,” I smile, closing my little folder.
“How is the team treating you?”
I cringe internally.
“Good, thank you.” If you forget about Ortega asking me to get a transfer.
“I’ve noticed that you have done a lot of overtime in just over a month,” she says with a sigh, readjusting her thick reading glasses to look over a sheet of paper. “We have a strict policy about our freelancers overtime, and I’m going to have to ask you to slow down a little.”
“Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was—”
“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We’re wildly understaffed, and our detectives aren’t the most patient. I’ll ask you to reserve the two last hours of your time for paperwork, if it’s possible, to make sure you don’t go over it. I’ll also give you a few days off soon and put you on call to make up for the past overtime.”
I nod. “Sure. But, what do I do when I’m done with my paperwork?”
She lifts her eyes off her paper, narrowing her eyes.
“You can socialize. Go to the gym downstairs. Come gossip in my office. Whatever you want, actually. And maybe, we can talk again soon about a full time position?” I wince, turning my eyes away. “Not now. Got it.” She stands up. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be thrilled to count you among our team.”
And with that, she walks away, leaving me at my desk, with a little over an hour to go and no more paperwork to do. Matthew is out following a lead, and he’s the only one I actually befriended so far. I haven’t taken the time to exercise in a few weeks, maybe it would be a good thing…
And I do have a little bag of fitness clothes in my locker from the last time I said I was going to use the Gym but didn’t because I didn’t have the time…
That was a cataclysmic mistake.
The worst idea of my life.
I’m frozen on the threshold of the gym, my bottle of water and towel clutched against my chest, questioning my life choices.
Because facing me, holding each other really inappropriately on a workout bench, are Raphael and Meredith. Both glaring at me. Both looking like they were not about to use that bench the correct way.
The bookcase god fails me again.
“I—uh…” I take a step back, fully prepared to apologize and run away, when my back hits a wall.
“There you are, sweetheart. I thought we were meeting outside the locker rooms?”
I turn abruptly—another bad decision—and my face collides with his hard chest—or the wall previously mentioned.
Ouch.
“We—uh?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, checking for injuries. There’s none. “I’m—”
“Seeing that the workbench is currently occupied , what do you think about yoga?”
What? “Yoga?”
He arches a brow, a playful smile pulling at his lips.
“I’ll get the mats.”
He pinches my waist and I jolt in surprise as he strides towards the back of the room, ignoring Raphael and Meredith throwing daggers at his back.
But that makes me move towards him until I reach his side, placing my towel and bottle on the floor next to the mirror. He unfolds the two mats with ease and places his hands on my hips from behind me.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” My mouth opens only to close, the words stuck in my too dry throat. “I don’t think I have, which is a mistake on my part, because you look absolutely delicious.”
I’m being ushered to the side and pushed softly until my ass meets a metallic bench.
Nate kneels in front of me, and the only thing I’m apparently able to do is gape. No words. My head swirls a little. Fuck, no breathing either. I force my lungs to open and inhale sharply in a gasp, my hands grasping the edge of the bench as Nate unties my sneakers and takes them off my feet.
“No shoes on the mat, sweetheart.”
A weird sensation flutters in my lower stomach. “Don’t call me sweetheart,” I breathe out, my voice barely audible.
He tilts his head to the side in amusement. “You’re awfully difficult when it comes to nicknames. I’ll find a better one.” He stands up, giving me his hand, ignoring the heavy glances coming from the workbench a few feet away.
“Nicknames are stupid,” I mutter, but the butterflies in my stomach clearly say otherwise.
“I’ll make you change your mind.”
He positions me on the mat and I let him. There’s no use fighting as I have no idea what’s happening right now, and if we are going to do some yoga, no idea how to do that either.
As I already said before, running is the only thing I know that is related to sport, and that’s probably why I have good cardio but still am a little chubby, no matter what Jack and Nuri say. I do have a strangely tiny waist, but my thighs, hips, and ass betray my love for outrageously greasy food.
I’m not sure I even care, it makes sitting comfier.
“We’ll start easy. Close your legs, feet a few inches apart,” he says, standing behind me. “Good. lift your arms above your head. Back straight.” His hands surround mine pushing them so they touch each other. “Good. Now hold.”
That is yoga?
“What pose is that?” I ask, forcing myself not to look at the mirror in front of me. I close my eyes. Yeah, that’ll do.
“The mountain,” he says, sliding his palm along my spine, forcing my back to arch a little. “Okay, good. Lift your right leg and place your foot on your thigh.”
I frown, but try to do as he says, feeling myself instantly falling to the side.
“Careful. Wow. Don’t you have any balance?”
I groan and try again, this time feeling his hands holding me by the waist.
“Try to place your foot a little higher on your thigh. Yes, that’s it. Perfect.”
Perfect . How he almost purred it in my ear is a little indecent and I’m feeling hot all of a sudden.
“And… hold.”
I’m definitely going to fall. I count in my head, ignoring the places where I know his hands are hovering barely a few inches from my skin. The heat radiating from his body, warming my skin, is overwhelming.
“Good. That was the Tree.”
The tree. And here I am, thinking about Friday night again, and how his tree was—
Kill me. Please .
“Okay, lean forward and place your hands on the mat.”
My eyes snap open, catching him looking at me in the mirror.
“My… Hands?”
One of his brows arches. Evil . That look is definitely evil. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to be nearly as inappropriate as what these two were about to do in here,” he says, tilting his head without looking towards the workout bench.
And I remember. They are here. Thinking Nate and I are dating. And it’s all an act. So I do as he asked, trying to get over the fact that he has a clear view of my ass, lifted in the air.
“Good. Keep your feet flat on the mat.”
His fingers tighten on my hips and he pulls towards him adjusting my pose. He pushes my feet apart using his before sliding his hands up my side, holding onto my ribcage.
“Breathe or you’re going to faint.”
I exhale slowly, thinking of anything other than him, the place he’s standing or the memories that keep invading my mind.
“Perfect,” he whispers again, and his tone makes me certain that he’s not talking about the pose. He shifts and the next thing I know, he’s now standing in front of my lowered head, checking my neck and shoulders. “You’re perfect.”
I hear the faint sound of people arguing in hushed voices and a door closing shut, but I’m too overwhelmed to even check if someone came in because his hands are on me, and I can’t seem to think straight when they are. Because right now the only thing I can focus on is his voice, raspy and a little breathless, murmuring that I’m perfect. Murmuring, so that it’s just for me. For us. And not for any potential bystanders. Not for our little act.
Nate takes one step away and I straighten up, our eyes meeting briefly before my breath catches in my lungs.
And I run. I flee like the coward that I am, because I can’t trust myself to stay here much longer. Because I’m not sure I can look at him and pretend that I’m not attracted to him anymore.