Other Colors - Ch. 17 - Sex Stories

Other Colors - Ch. 17

... shook her head at me grimly, “I should have called before you came all the way down here. I am a terrible friend. But you must forgive me, yes? I was not thinking. And already, you know, we are a day behind schedule.” Her brow was knitted in remorse. I stood on my toes, peeking over her shoulder to the stage. The other dancers were milling about, surly and impatient. “It’s alright. Really,” I shrugged, and smiled, “You should get back up there. I think they’re planning a mutiny.” She bit her lip, “You are sure you don’t despise me?” “Mais non,” I shook my head, “Go on. We’ll catch up soon.” “T’es un ange, Penny. I am lucky twice today,” she kissed me quickly on the cheek, “ Très bientôt. I will drag you kicking and screaming to see my clairvoyant, and you will tell me all about your dear Dmitri, yes? You promise?” I giggled drily, and dropped my eyes again, “Promise.” My spine tingled. I was lying. She didn’t run off right away, but pursed her lips at me, and cocked her head. For a moment, I wondered whether or not she could tell. “You know, since you are already here, Penny,” she bent closer, “I think there is someone else who might like to see you.” She pointed down the far aisle, to where the welder stood atop his enormous ladder. He was working on their set, affixing jagged silver leaves to a tree of corrugated metal. He shot out another shower of blue sparks. I spun back to her, eyes wide, and she nodded. I felt my heart start to plummet out of my chest. Behind his ...

... mask, I hadn’t recognized him. It was Peter. Of course it was Peter. “What,” I snatched her by the sleeve, “is he doing here?” She shrugged innocently, slipping her arm out of my grasp. “He is designing our set again. You know he did such a wonderful job on the last one,” she caught my eye, “ Très unique, très moderne. We are lucky to have him, no?” I glared at her, and she sighed. “S’il te plait, Penny. He has been asking about you. Tout le temps,” ever so slightly, she blushed. “Go and talk to him. You owe him this much, no?” I did. I did owe that much, though it pained me to admit it. She kissed me once more, and pranced away toward the stage. I stood there, my stomach turning over like a cement mixer. I felt very, very tempted to slip out before he could spot me, though not because I didn’t want to see him. I did. I cared about Peter, and in a parallel dimension—one where Dmitri Caine had never swept me up off the floor at the gallery; one where he’d been there when I needed bailed out of jail—I might have wanted to see what was there between us. Whatever it might’ve been, I’d often sensed it was both tender, and resilient. But we were not moving between dimensions that afternoon, and elasticity, after all, is finite. Ceiinosssttuv… ut tensio, sic vis. From the very outset, Peter had pleaded with me to stay away from Dmitri. I’d ignored him. I’d ignored him utterly. And every step of the way, he’d forgiven me for it. But this… I bit my lip, this is too much. I wasn’t just ...