Sumettikul's Universe

{12} It's Nice Knowing You

“Good evening, Build.” His voice is cool, his expression completely guarded and unreadable. The capacity to speak deserts me. Damn Us for letting him in here with no warning. Vaguely, I’m aware that I’m still in my sweats, un-showered, yucky, and he’s just gloriously yummy, his pants doing that hanging from the hips thing, and what’s more, he’s here in my bedroom.

“I felt that your email warranted a reply in person,” He explains dryly.

I open my mouth and then close it again, twice. The joke is on me. Never in this or any alternative universe did I expect him to drop everything and turn up here.

“May I sit?” He asks, his eyes now dancing with humor – thank heavens – maybe he’ll see the funny side?

I nod. The power of speech remains elusive. Wichapas Sumettikul is sitting on my bed.

“I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” He says.

I glance around it, plotting an escape route, no – there’s still only the door or window. My room is functional but cozy – sparse white wicker furniture and a white iron double bed with a patchwork quilt, made by my mother when she was in her folksy American quilting phase. It’s all pale blue and cream.

“It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” He murmurs. Not at the moment..not with you here.

Finally, my medulla oblongata recalls its purpose, I breathe.

“How...?”

He smiles at me.

“I’m still at the Imperial.”

I know that.

“Would you like a drink?” Politeness wins out over everything else I’d like to say.

“No, thank you, Build.” He smiles a dazzling, crooked smile, his head cocked slightly to one side.

Well, I might need one.

“So, it was nice knowing me?”

Holy cow, is he offended? I stare down at my fingers. How am I going to dig myself out of this? If I tell him it was a joke, I don’t think he’ll be impressed.

“I thought you’d reply by email.” My voice is small, pathetic.

“Are you biting your lip deliberately?” He asks darkly.

I blink up at him, gasping, freeing my lip.

“I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip,” I murmur softly.

My heart is pounding. I can feel that pull, that delicious electricity between us charging, filling the space between us with static. He’s sitting so close to me, his eyes dark smoky brown almost black, his elbows resting on his knees, his legs apart. Leaning forward, he slowly takes off my hair tie, his fingers freeing my hair. My breathing is shallow, and I cannot move. I watch hypnotized as his hand moves to my fringe as he brushes his to the side some more with his long, skilled fingers.

“So you decided on some exercise,” He breathes, his voice soft and melodious. His fingers gently tuck my hair behind my ear. “Why, Build?” His fingers circle my ear, and very softly, he tugs my earlobe, rhythmically. It’s so sexual.

“I needed time to think,” I whisper. I’m all rabbit/headlights, moth/flame, bird/snake...and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Think about what, Build?”

“You.”

“And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the biblical sense?”