Kate left, and Alex, having nothing to do, began to put things in order: he walked around the table, thoughtfully adjusting the colors of what he thought was wrong; he filled the fridge with food from the bag, while examining what was already there. Not without, of course, sarcastic criticism of you know who: yes, this dude (dude) and had no idea how to successfully accompany the "process"! So how, pray tell, how, on a romantic date, to do without champagne, strawberries and cream, eh? No way, and unspeakably proud of his foresight, Alex sat down on the wooden armrest of a chair that stood by the wall, a little away from the island, and clutched his hands on his knee, mulling over the prospects of the meeting. To hell with his underwear, which at once became tight and wet with overexcitement, it was more important, more interesting to understand what this imaginary "Evelyn" was made of, and that he was presented with "pseudo", Alex had no doubt at all. In his line of work he was constantly rubbing shoulders with the "weaker sex" and was therefore versed in female psychology. This time the nagging lady was clearly not easy: a real "hard nut". Most likely, she has a great working relationship, and fleeting, worthless, with the eternal fiasco on the basis of love - in everyday life, and that is exactly the kind of person he needed. The brightest type, a complex and multifaceted character, whose roots probably went back to a long personal tragedy, and a firm belief in justice. In short, all-important material, and what their meeting might have seemed to Evie an immoral attempt to make a living was in fact not. And the backstory of the acquaintance, too, she very, very much would not like, but in the name of this oath, let the one who ordered this "music" spill, and he would only have a great time. With an attractive, strange, very rugged and independent woman with no deep attachments. And, by the way, the scant description of her he already had only confirmed his first impressions:
"A lonely woman, recently separated from her boyfriend. Serious, thorough, and rational. She drowns her boredom in her work and even on holidays, she stays up late. She despises vacations, neglects weekends, and despises men who are especially hungry for women. Recently gave up sharply: both internally and externally, but stubbornly closed in on herself: work-home, home-work, rare Friday night get-togethers with colleagues, and no big weekend. Alas, it can not go on forever, and therefore requires someone who will be able to dispel the gloom of her soul.
"It's not an easy situation, and zero results are possible! Especially if Evie decides to have a hand in it! But you can't deal with her like you do with the others - quick and easy - oh, you can't!" - And Alex sighed heavily-the minutes of loneliness stretched like rubber. He glanced at his watch, flicked his eyes to the right and to the left: an outdated floor lamp, a sort of greeting from the obscure past, was attached to his armchair: a dark green, slightly peeling plafond with a dusty incandescent lamp; a darkened, bent in the arch aluminum stand and a cable of switch with a strung glass garland of faceted beads. Whoever this unknown designer was, the vintage was clearly a success.
"Wow! Cool! I love vintage!" - Alex immediately perked up. He was flooded with memories, and Alex shifted a little differently so that the string necklace would hang down in his big palm. The man held the fragile "snake" up to his eyes, turning it this way and that toward the light, and his face wrinkled slyly.
"Diamonds of purest glass! As I remember it now!" - Alex chuckled to himself and tugged boldly at the tip. With his active nature, he would find amusement in just about anything. One click, two clicks and so on... Till the light bulb burned out... Or the cable fell off... What a fun!
- Hey! What are you doing? - A loud shout from "Evelyn" caught Alex off guard.
As the woman stared at him in shock from the doorway, the man twitched and turned so uncomfortably that he nearly tumbled sideways with the floor lamp. He struggled to regain his balance and sat back down with a pitying face, devouring the lady with the gaze of a faithful dog.
- I'm just," Alex exhaled heavily and deeply, regretting that he couldn't see the full face of his partner, "exploring the effects of glass on its diabolical ability to drive away darkness.
- How's that going? Does it work? - Evie grinned sarcastically as she seemed to be quietly making fun of his oddity. Probably didn't think it would turn out so comically! Perhaps she wondered if she should go on knowing him. - and now she was leaning against the doorjamb with her hands behind her back. She involuntarily and somehow sweetly nibbled her lip. And Alex was unmistakably aware that this gesture was her calling card, and he would never forget it. Like the cherry scent of her perfume. Nor would he forget every minute we spent together. If only "Evie" would feel in him the rightness of the truths. Even despite the gaffe about the floor lamp, which would have been better turned into a joke. And Alex grinned mischievously, rounding his eyes stupidly.
- Not really! You can't do without a partner in these cases, and we'll divide the results as we should.
- Seventy to thirty in favor of the girls, huh? - "Evie" crossed her arms over her chest, and with a strange jerk of her chin she moved toward him.
- No! Ninety times ten in favor of the boys! - Alex got up from his seat in a picture of indignation. - Otherwise the universe will tip over upside down!
- And what else does the universe fear? The curse of the gods or the absence of the pointing finger of fate? - "Evelyn" continued to smile, but she still felt a kind of tightness. Perhaps it was from disbelief, or from the ambiguity of the situation. Perhaps she would steadfastly refuse to take a full break, and the price for him as a seducer was one penny a market day. But maybe at least a prayer would work a miracle?
Alex closed his eyes, holding his palms together against his lips. He swayed his body gently for a while, explaining softly as he did so:
- I don't always get a revelation from her, and then I act on a hunch. Evy! Do you sense anything other than our presence?
A slight smile touched Beckett's lips, but she only shook her head negatively.
- Evie?! The universe can't wait!
Beckett rolled her eyes languidly.
- What do you expect me to feel, Alex? A piercing vibe? A powerful energy rift beneath our feet? The curvature of quasi-space? Just so you know, I've never believed any of that crap in my life!
- You don't have to," Alex said smoothly, his palms touching now to his forehead and then to his lips and then to the tip of his nose. As if he'd made a mistake and was atoning for his sins. - I can do it, one for both of us.
- What are you, psychic? - Beckett squinted sarcastically. - I guess you have a scientific basis for paranormal sex, don't you?
- The universe and science say otherwise, but it's still hard for some people to grasp," Alex stopped whispering and opened his eyes: "Evelyn" was standing not far away, staring with a strange mixture of mischief, interest, and distrust in her gaze. And Alex also noted an involuntary sign. Yes, yes, that one, with his mouth. Make up your mind, as if relentlessly told him, and Alex took a wide step right off the armrest. He wobbled awkwardly, balancing his arms, but then some more. Until he could clearly see the gorgeous, hazel-emerald hue of her eyes that stabbed him right in the heart: they were full of THEY, the playfulness of the mood. Or maybe he didn't know anything about women at all. She certainly knew men.
- Where did you get so good at it? - asked this extraordinary woman.
- At one time I took part in the development of a scientific theory (but you'd be bored to hear about it!), which led me to the conclusion that curiosity is not always a bad thing. Can I ask you something?
- Hmmm! - Beckett raised an eyebrow incredulously, but Alex was bribeably serious: a collected, steadfast look, a ringing, confident timbre of voice, and hands clearly at the seams, like a military man. So what was the catch? Deciding there was nothing wrong with it, Kate nodded softly and with a smile.
- O'Key... Ask your fucking question...
- Good! - Alex moved in close; noisily taking in the air, bitter from her perfume, he swallowed frantically. - And what is that engineering marvel you have hidden under your blouse? The universe loves no secrets!
Nothing changed in his face, except a flicker of fire in his eyes, and Beckett was taken aback.
- What?" she was genuinely astonished. - What kind of a miracle? What are you talking about now?
- Well, that... that underneath the thin knitwear... the earthly shell...
- Oh, yes, the miracle... under the shell... O'Key! - Beckett bit her lip resolutely. She couldn't quite put her finger on whether she was talking about stiff upper body or brand of lingerie, but she was off to the rails and said, "Looks like someone never got out of the habit of daydreaming about her research! But I can make it happen! What kind of painful experience does he want to have?
- None. I won't act against your will, it's against my rules, too," Alex was completely unaffected by her bile, "and it's up to you to believe me or not. In the event of anything, you can only make sure.
- Have you ever been slapped before? - Kate pinned her fingers to her sides, as she always did in determined moments. - And don't think you know everything about women.
- I guess this is about you," Alex grinned mischievously, "and therefore I vote for caution and prudence. There's just one little hitch: you don't know anything about me. That's why there's no trust, either, which means you start with my body parameters, which are perfect. Look at the explosive power lurking in those biceps and thighs! Look how soft and strong my arms are! Look how deftly they knead and rub any, even the tightest muscles! And the length and grace of my fingers! And my exceptional skill! And I'm actually a real looker, who's certainly not in a hurry! And nothing shy!
- Ha!" Kate rolled her eyes. - I'm actually aware of male anatomy, and I don't know anything unusual about it at all. And I'm not particularly interested in the size of your socks, nor the color of your boxers either...
- Well, that's too bad! By the way, they are white, soft to the touch and great stretch. What are you wearing?
- Greetings from the 19th century, lace pantaloons with pleats.
- Really? Can I touch them? - Alex rejoiced sincerely, his eyes bulging stupidly, and immediately caught on the tip of his nose a small but strong lady's fist.
- You wish! You'll see if you look away!
He was relieved at once, but not really, just jokingly.
- If you only knew how, thanks to the sensitive skin of my hands, I know how to judge the quality of women's underwear, you wouldn't say that. And whatever you've got in your head, I'm not "dangerous" to you, and I never will be. I was raised right from childhood, and that's why we only have two options that you don't have to voice - it's so obvious: you either obey, or you run away without a backward glance. But somehow I believe in your courage. Or are there better options?
- Who knows, Alex, who knows... Do you really want to know? What if it's not words after all, but bruises in the underbelly? - With her lips in a tube, Beckett almost got on the defensive, but immediately bit her tongue. With his silly chatter this "trickster" had unwittingly "rocked" her, really stirring up some serious interest, but Beckett was not a fan of getting her hopes up in vain. It was a pity she hadn't known him before, or there could be a lot of twists and turns. Now, after an hour with this guy, Beckett suddenly realized that she didn't want to see Alex as a trivial mediocrity. After all, such funny dudes are rarely nerdy with gloomy worldly attitudes. And even though Alex behaved like an insolent and smug type at first, there was a kind, hilarious simplicity about him that disposes to trust in communication, to trust. So, in the course of the meeting, from minute to minute, the nervous tension would subside and a positive attitude would kick in, and that was exactly what she needed right now. And even if their meeting was seen through the prism of a monetary relationship, the game was still the game.
Kate sniffed her nose a little more sharply, chest fuller, deconstructing the scent of his cologne. An invigorating and expensive perfume, with hints of citrus and sandalwood and freshness. And also something indefinable, but exciting to the point of shivers. Something similar smelled like Royce. He'd come to her in the evenings: all mischievous and agile and confident in his thoughts and affairs, and he was unbearably attractive. It was true that Mike was selfish, though she didn't want him to be, didn't want to see it. He had very short, fantastically strong fingers, and when a walnut cracked in his hands, Royce smiled charmingly and contentedly. From the palm of his hand he would treat her to a wrinkled, sweetish kernel, which would disappear into her mouth to a ringing laugh, and then he would gently pick it up in his arms to toss it on the bed. Strong, commanding, and abrupt in his movements, Royce made love in a similar way: roughly, beastly, without lingering caresses or uninterrupted sparkling glances. At first she even liked it very much, and a spirited Beckett flew like a meteor around the site, feeling in love, loved, and happy up to her heels. The only thing was, Michael couldn't get an erotic massage. Or didn't want to. Of course, in between "sessions" of grueling "sex training," he crushed and squeezed her ass, fiddled with the bones of her back, stroked her flat belly, and rubbed strawberry gel into her chest, neck, and thighs, smelling dizzy. He even worked with his sharp tongue, but diligence is not skill. And it wasn't about piercing tenderness. I wonder what Alex's perks are.
Beckett looked intently, as if she'd never seen him before in her life, at a guest who didn't seem to live a day in this life without smiling. A high forehead with a barely noticeable scar that grew sharper from time to time. A clearly delineated strong-willed chin, and a boyishly perky voice, subtly changing to a soulful, velvet one. A powerful figure, wrestling athlete's shoulders and trim hips. In short, the full aristocrat's stature, but then why the comedy? You have such a great job at pleasuring women, and if it weren't for the mask, you'd have a lot of things to clear up for yourself. Using your physiognomy skills, conduct an investigation and, finding clues, make a full and clear picture. All it would take was a rag to pick up a finger... This ineradicable desire took hold of Beckett so strongly that, not to spoil it, she clenched her fists tightly and imperceptibly held her breath. Take it easy, Kate, take it easy. Don't get all twitchy, and stupidly follow the rules. It's not like it's your idea, after all.
"Oh, God!" - A deep sigh, his fingers pulled back, wet with sweat, and a sharp sweeping motion with his hands away from his face, as if exorcising demons - and Alex scrambled away from her like a frightened dog. His face contorted inimitably, his hands covering his solar plexus and his lips slurred something unintelligible. Neither of them had expected such a reaction from the other, indicative of an understatement. And now Beckett didn't know whether she should have said something in her defense, like she wasn't going to hit him, or just stupidly wait for him to respond. Which was unlikely to be a harsh one, not for nothing had she studied body language books from the academic library. Which Alex didn't need to know about, but oddly enough, he had already recovered from his fright. As if nothing had happened, Alex wandered around the room with his hands in his pants pockets, whistling softly but melodically. Some mischievous tune, already listened to by Beckett clearly more than once and in dangerously close proximity, but that's not how it works. In a book, yes, in a fairy tale, yes, and in a fantasy, yes, too, but not in life. So firmly had Kate learned that, as she had learned many other things of equal value. And now a type looms before her, with an amusing mindset and seemingly childish in life that avoids even spreading his arms. Which no doubt does him credit.