Dodging Trains by Sunniva Dee

pad. They’re cool, but there’s something to be said for your own place. Or more like your own gym.”
    “You live at a gym?”
    He shrugs. “For the next few months, yeah—pretty much. You want a tour of the house, Rubina Hood?” He changes the subject seamlessly.
    I extend an arm above my head and touch the archway of the door behind me. My spine curves, accentuating my cleavage, and I yawn like I’m bored. Then I let go of the doorjamb and nod.
    “Hit me with it,” I say and watch him force his stare up from my boobs.
    Power. I’ve got it.
    Keyon completes the speed version of a guided tour downstairs with me on his arm, pointing at random things and people as we go.
    “Sir, those are private quarters. They’re off limits to the public,” a security guard says as Keyon takes the first step into the chained-off staircase that dominates the foyer. He swings around, shifting my hand from one of his and into the other so I don’t have to move.
    “Edgar.”
    “Oh, didn’t recognize you there,” the security person apologizes. “Please, by all means, sir.”
    “No worries. You’re doing a good job.” Keyon pats his shoulder.
    I don’t understand what’s happening next until Keyon’s elbow is wedged under my butt and he’s lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. Then, he’s got me standing on the other side of the rope.
    “Wow, you’re strong,” I squeak, momentarily losing both footing and control. He steadies me.
    “Well, good. I sort of need that for my job.”
    Right, and I need to step up my game. “Bet I could take you like no one’s business,” I blurt. Fuck. Lame!
    “We could take each other is my bet,” Keyon says, and as bizarre as his comeback is, my cheeks understand and flush. I swallow my embarrassment; I’ll be the sexy, silent girl unless I’ve got something clever to say, I decide, and send Keyon a heated stare.
    “Upstairs foyer,” he murmurs, extending his hand in a sideways sweeping motion.
    “Fish tank.” I nod at what’s essentially a glass wall with tons of small fish in orange and silver speeding through the water.
    “Correct. Five points to Rubina Hood. ” He lifts my hand over our heads in victory and cheers in a hissing whisper. It makes me laugh.
    “Pooch,” I add, pointing at a small wagging creature with curly fur at our feet.
    “Another five! That’ll multiply to fifteen points if you guess her name.”
    I roll my eyes. “I think I should get two hundred points if I, of all dog names in the world, manage to guess…” Lady’s nametag jingles. It’s written in pink block letters too, impossible to miss. “I’ll go with ‘Lady.’”
    “Sorry, you just lost all the points you’ve earned so far. Lady was her mother, who sadly passed away at the tender age of two. This is Duchess.”
    I giggle, all pretenses fading away. Yeah, he looks different, but Keyon’s sense of humor is as wacky as ever. I feel like my old self for a moment, from when we stole flowers from backyards in the summer to brighten the dinner tables of random, surprised neighbors.
    From when we gave old Mrs. Grudgefeld’s dog a bath because of a bet over a black spot on his belly—was it dirt or a birthmark? The loser would be in charge of swapping the sugar and the salt containers in Keyon’s kitchen. I lost. We both suffered the consequences when we were served the saltiest key lime pie in the history of mankind the day after.
    “You’re silly,” I tell him now. He shrugs thick shoulders, and I can’t help thinking that I’d like to bite into them.
    “Born that way.”
    “What’s your favorite lollipop flavor?” I ask, thoughtless and leaving him speechless. His beautiful mouth opens. Then it closes again before he answers.
    “Raspberry.”
    I regret my prodding. What was I thinking? It’s like I want him to find out who I am.
    “Yours?” he adds, popping his hands deep into his pockets. The position hitches his shoulders upward and defines hard pecs