Wrong Impression

17. Work from Home

The way their bodies moved in sync in the mirror made everything seems sureal. And the more she looked, the more it felt like she was intruding on something private, even if it was herself she was staring at in that mirror.

Angie blushed furiously and stopped. He stopped too, eyebrows raised in question.

"What's up? You were doing so well."

"I don't think I can do this."

"Why not?"

She bit her lip, trying not to look or sound pathetic. "It just feels so... intimate."

"It looks intimate, too," Tom agreed to her surprise. "But that's a good thing. We get judged for chemistry, too. And I'm sure I'd never have this much with someone else."

"Yes, but..." She bit her lip again, trying to find the words to describe what she felt.

"You feel uncomfortable," he said and she wasn't sure if she imagined the disappointment in his voice.

She just nodded because even if uncomfortable wasn't exactly the right word, it was the closest to how she felt.

"Is there anything I can do to stop making you feel uncomfortable? Stay back? Dance on your side instead of behind you?" He hesitated for a moment. "Not dance with you at all?"

"You can't do that! We need to practice."

"I could just watch you and wing it. Or maybe it would be better if you didn't look in the mirror though I think you really should so you can improve."

She turned to face him. "You'd do that just to make me comfortable? Risk the competition?"

He seemed a little startled by her sudden desire to talk to the real him instead of mirror Tom, but pulled himself together and shrugged. "It's just a silly competition. It comes and goes. You, on the other hand..." He stopped, his face scrunched in concentration as though trying to remember where he was going with this.

Angie's body shivered. He really did care about her. Enough to risk money he obviously needed. But she needed it too and wasn't about to ruin things for him.

"Maybe it's the lack of familiarity that makes me feel weird." She took his face in her hands. The warmth of his skin sent another pleasant tingle through her. "I'm not used to having someone so close. So maybe if I... get used to the feel of you, it will be better."

"Okay..." he whispered. "Do whatever it takes."

She nodded and focused on his face. She liked it. How his hair fell over his forehead, how he didn't have that Nazi haircut everyone else had, how his nose was the right shape and size, the way his lips curved the tiniest bit at the edges as if he was supposed to always smile... She ran her fingers on the line of his jaw. It was a little prickly. His lower lip was a little fuller than his upper one.

She reached her hands up again, stopping on his sunglasses. He took in a sharp breath, but didn't pull away. He'd let her take them off if she wanted. He'd let her see his eyes. And oh, how she wanted to see them. But she stopped. She wouldn't. He'd said it was an issue of trust. He'd take them off on his own, when he was ready. They didn't even bother her anymore because she was already used to reading him with them on.

Her hands trailed down his face again, down his neck, over his shoulders. She loved the heat of his skin. It felt strangely familiar. And even if he was thin, she liked it, because she could feel his muscles. In his arms, on his chest, his abs. When she ran her hands over his ribs, he twitched a little. So he was ticklish. Good to know.

His palms were rough and calloused.  She liked it. It meant he wasn't afraid to work.

Once she reached his hips, she started going back up, focusing on his back this time, on the way his muscles contracted, on his quickened breathing. She was torturing him and she strangely liked it. Not the position of power, but the effect she had on him and especially that he was letting her have her way.