Something snagged the back and it took a second to realize Score was touching her. At first, she figured an errant pin was the culprit. But the gentle pressure left and rose again, like just one of his fingers was testing the depth of her locks near her spine.
The moment she realized it was there, it disappeared.
“Wear it like this at night. Once your chores are done and your work day is over, let your hair loose.”
She appreciated that his request didn’t include daylight hours. When running errands out in the sun or in the heat of the kitchen, it could get in the way or overheat her.
Shame she had to point out a problem. “My workday is never done. I’m on call for you twenty-four seven.”
Beeks had told her that on the day of her interview.
“We’re going to teach you about what you shouldn’t say to men, ‘specially when you’re standing in front of them in your underwear,” he said. “Go pour two glasses of scotch.”
The task distracted her from her apparel, or lack of it, and gave her a chance to consider what he’d meant. Avoiding looking his way, Shyla went to the bar on the other side of the opening to the second hallway and poured the two drinks.
All she’d done was state fact. It wasn’t easy to know which were work hours. From the start of her day, she worked for Score, but he wasn’t awake until the afternoon. Shyla was always there to prepare his first meal of the day, and to help him with whatever he needed in the afternoon before making his evening meal.
This was the first night he’d come home early. Although she was curious about why he’d returned, it didn’t feel like the right moment to ask. It wasn’t really her business anyway. His professional life was nothing to do with her.
By returning, he proved that she wasn’t off the hook even in the dead of night. If he came back late and needed something, she’d be working again.
Except, this wasn’t work. Wasn’t that what he was trying to communicate?
Picking up both glasses, she went toward the living room where he was seated on the same couch as before. Instead of sitting back like earlier, he was propped on the edge, leaning over the glass coffee table that he’d pulled closer. She noted that her dress was no longer on the floor and had no idea where it was. Again, Shyla thought it best not to ask; that would mean drawing attention to the fact she wasn’t wearing it.
On her approach, Score took care of reminding her. He looked up and the first thing he did was fixate on her body.
She held both glasses toward him. He didn’t take either of them and just kept on scrutinizing her figure. “You’re all natural.”
“Yes,” she said, touching her Achilles tendon with the front of her opposite big toe. Self-consciousness was beginning to creep back in. As much as she tried not to squirm, with him sitting and her standing, she felt even more exposed. The corner of the coffee table was between them, but still, he sat there just looking at her. “I’ve never even considered cosmetic surgery.”
“Don’t,” he said, taking one of the glasses from her. “Can you play chess?”
The board on the table had been one of the first things she’d noticed in that particular space.
Shyla hadn’t considered playing. “Yes,” she said. “My grandfather taught me.”
“Good. Sit.”
He nodded at the opposite side of the table and shifted to get more comfortable. Only then did he drink from the glass she’d handed him.
“I…” Shyla was confused. “I thought we were going to have sex.”
His head tilted and his glass dropped an inch. “You’re impatient,” he murmured like the characteristic intrigued him. “Good. That will make this more fun.”
Going around the coffee table, she sank onto the floor, folding her legs beneath her. “What’s this?”
“The wait,” he said. “Drink your drink.”
Wondering how long the wait would be, she squinted at the glass in her hand. “I don’t do well with hard liquor.”
Something he should probably know from what had happened on her first night. After their conversation in the laundry room, no one mentioned her drunkenness again. Shyla wasn’t even sure Beeks knew what happened. Score had given her another chance; she’d promised herself not to waste it.
“Pays to have a tolerance,” he said. “You never know when you might need it.”
Shyla wasn’t really sure what that meant, but she screwed up her face and took a sip. The liquid stung her lip then burned on her tongue. Taking just a little spared her the embarrassment of coughing or choking on it.
“I never learned how to drink.”
“You’ll only do it when I’m around,” he said. “Shy, look at me.” She did. “Only when I’m around. Understand?”
“I understand,” she said.
“Good girl.”
All this time she’d thought they were ignoring what was between them. Score was a man of so few words and she hadn’t wanted to push. It wasn’t possible to push him anyway, Shyla wouldn’t have known where to begin. Though his requests sounded like orders, she was grateful for him taking the lead and being direct with her.
She wanted to explore what he made her feel, but didn’t really know how to do it without making a fool of herself. Shyla had been too self-conscious to even broach the subject knowing there was a high chance she’d read his intense stares wrong. It was sort of encouraging to learn that she hadn’t.
“Did you learn about
