Chapter 54– Hera
Chapter 54– Hera
From what I see, once upon a time this place used to be some kind of recreational center. Ten, maybe even eight years ago... Aside from the general twenty-sixteen look the place has, there are some tennis balls to a corner of the hall and a bat lying to the far left. A basketball with more than its fair share of wear and tear is lying in a deflated heap on a rickety shelf and some board games layered with enough dirt to start a small garden are next to it and in the center of the space is a mother-of-pearl pool table with a felt so green the grasses outside would be jealous. On it the balls are arranged in an 8–ball fashion and while everything here is covered in filth, the wood of the table gleams, polished, and the bulb over it seems to shine brighter than all the others, beckoning on me. For a moment I forget the man behind me who hasn't moved an inch since he turned on the lights. I head for it like one under a spell and grab the cue stick like I even know what I am doing. Not surprisingly, the shot is a mess-up.
“Loner, yes. But I could say the same for you too.” While his retort is expected, the next thing I feel behind me is not– a firm hand pushing me down over the table just before something I assume is a muscled chest moulds against my back. Yup, definitely a deliciously toned chunk of body. “That's not how you play,” he continues. “Play like that and I will destroy you in a mere five minutes."
His breath is on my neck and it feels like trouble crawling up my skin but I don't react– move at all– barely even able to properly respire. The next words that leave my lips feel like war. "I suppose you want to teach me how to properly play then. That must be why you have me in this position.”
“You sound disappointed at that. What, were you expecting some other activity?” As the words leave with a chuckle he runs his fingers over the length of my arm until my hand is positioned correctly and then he applies the slightest pressure. We take the shot together, pocketing the plain ball.
“You're solid,” he announces in my ear.
"I'm not playing.”
"Say that again.”
I push myself to a standing position and he does the same but forget giving me space, I don't even have wiggle room with how close he is, body literally moulding mine to the edge of the table. I'm only a breath away from tipping and falling over the spread of stripped and unembellished balls. “I don't like these games,” I whisper because we're so near my lips are almost brushing his. “Tag. Hide and seek. Cat and mouse. I am not your fucking plaything. I employed you.”
“And I must be paid.” He doesn't even sound sympathetic. “This right here is what we agreed on. Friday Nights.”
“Well we need to review the payment plan. Because being terrorised away from my date and deprived of an actual social life makes absolutely no sense.”
"So does thinking you could double-cross me. Hera, if you were ten thousand leagues below the sea I would find you. You know you can't evade me." He takes a step back but doesn't give me too much space because a part of him must have come to the conclusion that I am insane enough to go running back into the trees and while I know he will eventually catch up with me he probably doesn't want to have to go through that stress in the first place. “What, you thought you could cheat the devil and get away with it? What gave you that idea?”
To be honest, I don't know. And that is why I am quiet as I stare back at his mask, trying to understand how exactly I got here. Once upon a time I used to have full control of my life, forced by my unique circumstances to begin adulting earlier than I probably should have. Now I can barely even influence my own emotions. Were that not the case I should have cured myself of this sick fascination with this man. He's obviously out for me. As my brain continues to bring the rest of me up to speed with more information like this, minutes pass in blank silence until Czar's finally speaking again.
"Your eyes are so distracting." He says it like he didn't want to admit it; show me I have power over him in some form, like acquiescing to the fact could kill him but refusing to do so would probably end in the same way and he's there, stuck in the middle, weak– a condition he really despises.
"Why are they?”
"Because like the rest of you they're so damn gorgeous…”
“And… you have a problem with that?"
"Yes. How do I look you in the eyes and still manage to have a serious conversation? I keep thinking how fucking beautiful you are."
Well.
Well.
This won’t be the first time Czar would be sending lines with enough rizz to fry a small town my way but for some reason his statement sounds so… tender and warm like it's not just naked attraction that sparks– exists– between us; as if he doesn't just desire me like a luxury he wants to afford himself– some pastime– but rather needs me as though I were an essential. It's how sincere the remark sounds even when I can't see his face or eyes– the supposed windows to the soul.
"Charming words. I'm sure I won't be able to say the same for you,” I finally answer, picking that exact statement just to annoy him… but he doesn't jump on my comment like I expected he would.
No, slowly, like a carnivore cornering its prey, he takes back the space he gave me earlier, pressing me tighter against the pool table. Then he leans in close. I pull back on reflex, miss my balance and fall back-first on the snooker table’s baize. With this new position my eyes have no choice but to be on him even though the proximity is messing with my head so much I just want to bolt. And though only two orange crosses are staring back, I know his gaze is also on me.
As if things weren't bad enough, now he’s leaning down until his lips are level with mine and the difference between us is just the space that my chest uses to rise and fall with my harsh breathing.