ALEXA

Yawning, I stretch my arms out of the blankets and blink a few times, wondering why my room is so light. Realizing it’s well into the morning, I sit up too fast and have to lie back down until my head stops swimming. Looking down at my naked breasts, I look up at the dolls.

“He seduced me to sleep?” I ask, laughing a little at the thought. “That’s a new one.”

Closing my eyes, I remember the feel of his lips and his beard as they played across my skin. Shivering, I press my thighs together. Easy, girl.

Taking a minute to enjoy the fact that I have just had one of the best night’s sleep in memory, I wonder if Damon’s gentle attentions were enough to spare me from the graphic flashes of hands grabbing at me and holding me down that usually follow any sex I’ve had in the past. If so, I could definitely get used to that. And the fact that his particular form of pleasuring me is better than anything I’ve had before now.

Tossing off the blankets, I scoot to the side of my bed to pull on the pajamas discarded the night before. Throwing my robe over top, I pull on my slippers and head to the kitchen for coffee. Kat is already pouring, and fills another cup when she sees me. Giving me an appraising look, she smiles to herself as she sets the pot back in place and opens the fridge.

“You’re practically glowing,” she says, setting the cream in front of me as she adds milk to her own cup.

Trying to contain my own smile, I shrug. “I slept well.”

“Interesting,” she says, watching me over her cup as she takes a sip.

“Yes. It is,” I agree.

“Did you know he was friends with Bruno?”

I shake my head. “No idea. But it earned him bonus points in the safety category.”

“The handsomeness category seems to be covered too,” she adds with a smile.

“Mm,” I agree. “Combined with the clothes-off hotness scale, it’s off the charts.”

Giggling, Kat shakes her head. “And he doesn’t mind creepy dolls. How goes the obedience training?”

“Passed with flying colors.”

“Wow,” she says, nodding in approval. “I guess we’ll be seeing him around a bit more then?”

“For a while,” I say, nodding and taking another sip. Looking up, I see Kat giving me a disappointed look. “What?”

“You’ve already put an expiration date on him?”

“Not exactly,” I say defensively, turning to set up the toaster. “I assume it will end of its own accord at some stage. Probably in about a month’s time when our current arrangement ends, if not sooner. It’s been one night. There are plenty of nights in a month for him to realize I’m too hard to maintain, though I think he’ll commit to the full month. He seems the type to stick to his word, don’t you think?”

Narrowing her eyes, Kat purses her lips as she frowns at me. “What if he wants more than a month? Does he even get a chance?”

Shrugging, I put bread in the toaster. “I’m sure if he hasn’t run screaming by then we can renegotiate our terms. Come on, Kat. It’s been one night. And he’s already run for the door once. Let’s just chill about it, okay?”

“Fine,” she says, relenting. Getting the margarine and the peanut butter, she sets them next to me on the bench. “What made him run?” she asks quietly.

“He took my surprise at his absence of hands, as me freaking out about his absence of hands,” I say, almost laughing at the bizarreness of it. “If he’d given me a second to get over the shock, he probably would have seen me rejoicing.”

“Did you tell him it worked in his favor?” Kat asks, spreading a thick layer of peanut butter onto her toast.

“He figured it out,” I say with a smile, excusing myself before Kat asks for details. “I think I’ll go have a shower.”

“Make it a cold one,” Kat sings out behind me.

***

HAVING PROGRAMMED HIS number into my phone, I touch the call symbol as the butterflies in my stomach collide with each other in frenzied panic.

“Hello, you’re speaking with Damon, how may I direct your call?” he says, as though he’s smiling.

“Damon, hey. It’s -”

“I know who it is, Alexa. I’ve been staring at my screen all morning hoping for a new number to flash onto it. This is your number right?” he asks, his voice half teasing. “I know it’s not the pay phone on Main Street.”

“Sorry about that. And yes. This is my number, so you can call me too. If you want.”

“Perfect. I can’t talk for long, because my professor is staring at me.”

“You’re in class?!”

Cringing, I feel my face flush and find myself literally trying to hide, even though I’m in my own bedroom. I’m so relieved he can’t see me being a complete moron.

“Why did you answer?” I hiss, as if his classmates might hear me if I speak normally. “I’m so sorry. I’ll call you later,” I say in a rush.

“Or I can call you when I’m done,” he says, laughing. “Bye Alexa.”

Groaning, I laugh a little too. “Bye Damon.”

I fill my morning by cleaning out my room and packing up any unwanted items to donate to the charity garage sale being run by The Mission, where I sometimes volunteer. I’d like to say that it’s keeping me from thinking about Damon, but the truth is, I must have looked at my phone a million times to check if the volume is up, or that the battery has enough charge for when he calls.

When my phone actually does ring, I practically pounce on it and have to force myself to wait a dignified four rings before answering.

“Four rings?” he ask, clicking his tongue. “I’ll have to up my game. How are you?”

Clearing my throat, I tell myself to stop being so ridiculously nervous. “I’m doing well, thank you. How was class? Did your teacher chew you out afterward for being a disruption?”

“She tried, but I was just so deliriously happy that you’d called, she took pity on me and ended up giving me dating advice.”

Stunned for a moment, I hesitate in my response. “Damon, you do understand we’re not dating, right?”

“Yeah,” he says straight away, soothing my anxiety. “But she doesn’t know that. I wasn’t about to tell her I’m trading sex for pain relief. She might get the wrong idea.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Yes. I suppose she might. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I have to drop some stuff home, then swing by my new apartment to check on progress in the bathroom, but that’s pretty close to Beyond, so I’ll be in the neighborhood, if you want me to come around after.”

“New apartment?”

“Well, I bought it a while ago. It was tenanted until the end of summer, but I’ve been having it renovated to my specifications. The suite I have at the moment isn’t quite how I need it to be and it’s just a bit too small to do what needs to be done. Anyway, the renovations are nearly done, so I’m getting kind of excited.”

“It sounds exciting,” I agree, wondering if I’ll ever own, or think to renovate an apartment one day.

“You can come with me if you’d like to see how it’s coming together.” He makes the offer so much more easily than I receive it.

“Or not,” he says lightly, maybe sensing my hesitation. “It’s not exactly in keeping with our arrangement, so I don’t expect it of you, Alexa. Are you working tonight?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Yes. I’ll be busy from seven, because the show starts at eight, but if I dance early, I could be done by nine.”

“You can earn a living in an hour?” he asks, sounding impressed.

“I’m a good dancer.”

“I believe it. Do you have a special name? Like Bruno and Scarlett?”

“You mean Unit and Phoenix?” I say with a giggle. “Yeah. We all have a pseudonym for protection.”

“I remember when Bruno joined the group and was trying to think of a military related name to use. I tried to suggest Private Parts and Major Hard-on, but he wasn’t keen.”

Laughing again, I shake my head. “I’m not surprised. I’m Flex.”

“Flex,” he repeats, trying it out. “I like it. Your body is flexible, it’s similar to your name and rhymes with sex; and it also shows your strength, like flexing your muscles, but more of a ‘making a stand’ resistant kind of strength.”

Smiling a little, I sit on my bed playing with the end of my braid. “Most people don’t get the strength thing, because I’m a total lightweight, but I see it in the same sort of way. I might bend, but I won’t break. Flex.”

“Very fitting. Am I allowed to watch you dance?”

“In the club, or regular dancing?”

“Both. Either. Which am I allowed to see?”

Laughing, I sweep Charlotte’s nose with the tip of my hair, as if I’m painting it with a paintbrush. “You know, I quite like that you ask me what you’re allowed to do as if I have any right to control you. You can watch if you like, but I’m guessing we won’t get much study done after that, so you’d better come around beforehand.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you around... four?” he asks. “Does that give us enough time? When do you normally eat? Sixish?”

“Yeah, dinner is normally at six. You want me to add you to our attendance tally? Benji’s on dinner and he can’t cook for peanuts, so it’ll just be pizza.”

“Sure,” he says, sounding surprised. “Pizza sounds great. Thanks. So, see you at four?”

“At four,” I agree. “Bye Damon.” I hang on the phone, waiting to see if he’ll say my name, even though he’s already said enough to terminate the call.

“Bye Alexa,” he says, that sexy smile still evident in his voice. I manage to swipe out of the call before releasing the pleasurable moan he’s inspired. These little Damon-induced shivers are nigh on addictive.

Checking the time, I sigh. An hour and a half to kill. Looking at the box of gear I’ve set aside for The Mission, I decide to see who else is home and if they’d like to donate anything. By the time four o’clock rolls around, my roommates and I have accumulated a reasonable stack of cartoned goods in the living room, ready for delivery to The Mission tomorrow.

Wiping the sweat from my brow as I set the last of the boxes on the stack, I cringe as an almighty squeal pierces the air, followed by a few choice words.

“Sorry!” Damon calls through the intercom. “The buttons are too close together for me to hit individually.”

Calming myself from the shock, I move to the intercom. Normally, I’d just buzz someone in, but Damon has difficulty with the round handles. “I’ll come down and let you in.”

Opening the door, I find Damon with his arms full.

“What’s that?” I ask about the large piece of electronic equipment in his arms.

“Hello to you too, Alexa.

“Sorry,” I say, meeting his laughing eyes. Caught in their olive green gaze, I raise my hand in a pathetic excuse for a wave. “Hi.” It’s barely above a whisper and I force my eyes elsewhere to keep from looking like a deer in the headlights. Looking back at the huge screen, I frown.

“It’s a study tool,” he explains, shifting it slightly to catch my attention again. “It’s a Jamboard. A type of interactive white-board,” he explains, looking at me with interest. “Math is hard to do on a computer and I write very poorly and very slowly. This is easier for me to use than pens and paper.”

“It looks brand new,” I say hesitantly as I think about what that means.

“Because I take very good care of it,” he says carefully and I sigh with relief. “Did you think I bought it just for our sessions?” he asks with an easy smile.

“I was hoping you hadn’t,” I say, cringing a little. “It looks expensive.”

“That’s why I take good care of it,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s also kind of awkward for me to stand around with. Shall we go upstairs? Or are you trying to avoid study again?” he asks with a mischievous smile. “Because although I loved the last avoidance tactic, this one is getting heavy.”

Rolling my eyes, I hold the door wide for him to enter in sideways. Waiting patiently for me to punch in the code to open the door to the stairwell, his eyes travel my body openly.

“What have you been doing?” he asks with another of those gorgeous half smiles. “Dusting?”

Opening the door, I stand in front of it to keep it open as I look down at myself, wondering what he’s looking at. My hands are looking particularly grubby. Hiding them behind my back, I smile a little.

“It’s newspaper ink,” I explain, nodding him up the stairs with his heavy cargo. “From wrapping up some glassware. The Mission, where I volunteer, is having a fund-raising garage sale, so the crew and I have been sorting out some things to donate.”

“Cool. When is it?”

“This weekend,” I say, closing the door and following him up.

“Can I donate too?”

“Sure. The more they have, the more they’ll make.”

“Great. I have a storage unit I’ve been meaning to go through before I move into the new place, and it’s filled with shit I don’t need. Donating it to a good cause sounds like a healthy way to rid myself of the surplus.”

“Do you need a hand sorting it out?” I ask, thinking about the logistics of going through a storage unit with no hands. Opening the damn thing would probably be enough to baffle me.

“I need two hands actually, so that would be very helpful,” Damon says with a grin from the top of the stairs as he negotiates his way past the stacks of cartons. “Should I set this up in that quiet living room you talked about?” he asks over his shoulder. “I’m a little concerned about the distractions in your bedroom.”

Damon’s last statement is made with another smile as he purposely traces my body with his eyes before they come to rest on my face. One of his eyebrows hitches up just a little in question, as if to say, 'Don’t you think?'

“That is probably for the best,” I agree as my eyes make their own appreciative journey of his tall, muscular frame. “It’s just down the short hall there, on the way to Bruno and Scar’s honeymoon suite. First door on the left.”

Chuckling, Damon moves sideways through the doorway and follows my directions. “Are you sure it’ll be quiet enough for studying then?” he jokes, pausing briefly in the next doorway before entering.

“We call it the study, so it should be,” I reply, looking around the room with its desks, chairs, books and couches. “Although I don’t think anyone’s really used it for that purpose since Bruno and Scar finally got together. I know Teeny and Boomer stick to studying in the main living room these days.”

“I think it’ll do just fine,” Damon says, looking around and setting his Jamboard on one of the couches. Pulling off his shoulder bag, he takes it to one of the desks and proceeds to tip out the contents, sorting through them with his stumps. Separating a few pieces, he takes them to another desk and slots them together. On his way back to his bag, he looks up to find me watching him.

“You can go and get your books while I set up, if you like,” he says, his cheeks flushing lightly.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just find it fascinating to watch you,” I say, feeling my own cheeks heating. “I’ll go now,” I say already moving to the door.

Washing my hands on the way through the kitchen, I soon return with my books. Damon has set up his board and arranged the furniture so that two seats sit at a desk to one side, and the room’s ugliest armchair is sitting right in front of the thing.

Setting my books on the desk, I look between the seats

“Where do you want me to sit?”

From the blush in his cheeks and the way he clears his throat, he’s probably thought of an immediate response to that question, but thought he’d best keep it to himself.

“How about you tell me what you want to revise first, and then we’ll decide which is best?” he says instead.

Raising my eyebrows, I nod. “Would that be better than sitting on your dick, Mr. Shermansky?”

His cheeks flame even more red. “Not better, no,” he says, lowering his eyes to the floor. “But probably more conducive to study.” Raising his eyes just enough to look through his lashes at me, his lips twitch to one side. “How long have you been able to read minds? With skills like that, you shouldn’t be wasting your time with math.”

Laughing, I wave him off. “It’s a gift I’ve had for a long time, but it doesn’t always make me laugh.” Sitting in the ugly chair, I realize it is by far the most comfortable chair on offer. I usually sit in one of the tidy looking chairs when I work in here, but I’m now a devout convert to this one. Wondering if Damon sat in each chair to find the most comfortable one, I turn back to him, trying not to think of the story of ‘The Three Bears’. “I have trouble with most things mathematical. Algebra practically gives me a nosebleed, and I have a strong aversion to everything involving triangles, so I know that is my biggest weakness.”

“Triangles?” he clarifies with a curious look on his face.

“I know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, shaking his head. Slipping a sock-like thing onto his right stump, he pulls it up with his mouth. I notice it has a gray, slightly pointed tip attached to it, and when he moves to the board and draws a small triangle shape in the top corner, I see how his system works.

“My biggest weakness is that I’m extremely ticklish. That’s stupid.” Turning to face me, he leans against the desk. “Tell me more about this aversion to triangles.”

Smiling a little, I shrug. “It stems from a bad experience, so every time I see them, I have to get past that roadblock before I can understand the question, and by then I feel all tight inside. I have difficulty recalling formulas, but the ones with letters make no sense to me anyway, so even if I get that far, I’m pretty sure I substitute wrongly. When angles come into it, my thoughts shatter completely, I lose any grasp I had on the concept and have to start again.” Stopping for breath, I look up at Damon with a pained smile. I’ve invited him into my uphill battle.

“You know I really liked it when you called me Mr. Shermansky,” he says with a gentle smile. Confused, my forced smile turns into a frown.

“Is this a joke?”

“No,” he says, his face deadpan. “I really did like it.”

“Good for you. What does that have to do with triangles?”

“You hate them,” he says, looking at his board.

“And?”

“And if you’re ever going to accept them as part of your life, you have to make them likable. Or at least tolerable,” he says, doing something to make his small triangle bigger. Drawing a smiley face on it, he turns back to me. “Does this triangle still look scary?”

Staring at him in disbelief, I look at the happy triangle. Shaking my head, I look back at him with what I’m sure must be a look that screams, ‘Are you fucking crazy?’

Saying nothing, Damon turns his back to draw something else on the board. When he moves out of the way again, I laugh. His happy triangle now has arms reaching above it, it’s wearing a tutu and has stick legs that end in ballet slippers.

“How about now?” he asks.

“It’s not nearly as scary as your bizarre style of tutoring.”

His lips twitch at the corner and he turns around again, pulling a drop-window down from the top of the screen. Selecting something, he turns around again and taps the triangle. It begins rotating, giving the appearance of a happy, two-dimensional triangle spinning in an endless pirouette.

“How about now?”

Watching the comical triangle ballerina spinning, I appreciate Damon’s efforts to make me smile. “This triangle is not scary.” I concede.

“What do you think her name is?” Damon asks, also watching her spin.

Snorting, I look at her. “I don’t know. The Great Tri-Zinski? I feel like she’s probably Russian if she pirouettes with such dedication without showing any signs of dizziness.”

“Perfect. The Great Tri-Zinski is your triangle, Alexa. Anytime you come across a question involving a triangle, this is the triangle you will use. Forget about every other triangle. You don’t need them.” Tapping the screen, Damon stops her spin and does something that makes two of her sides longer, changing her appearance.

“Like all dancers, she too is flexible. She can change into any triangle you might need, including this one,” he says, changing her again to create a right angle triangle. “You know this angle?” he asks, drawing a tiny square in the triangle’s corner.

“Ninety degrees.”

“Very good. The Great Tri-Zinski performs in many shows, so she has to be adaptable. This is the form she will take when she wants to play the role of a Roman with an alphabet.” Labeling the triangle’s sides a, b and c, Damon writes an equation at the bottom of the board and then opens my books to show the same equation. “Shall we begin with Pythagoras’ Theorem?” he asks, gesturing to a seat at the desk. Sitting next to me, he nudges my pencil towards me with a warm smile.

Smiling back, I wipe my eyes before the tears burst their banks. “Thank you,” I whisper, taking up the pencil.

“You’re welcome,” he says, kissing my head and pointing at the first question. “Let’s get that brain of yours ready to conquer. Even though your triangle doesn’t look worried about those letters hanging around her, we need her to make friends with them so we can introduce her to some tighter angles that really make her look sharp.”

Giggling, I write out the first question. “You’re such a math nerd.”

“I know. And look out, because it’s totally contagious,” he says, nudging me with his elbow as he watches me draw a diagram to help myself clarify the question. “Especially for people who already have some form of the disease.”

“Are you calling me a geek?”

“Who else reads Shakespeare and Poe on purpose?” he says, laughing a little.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he insists when I frown. “I happen to think it’s incredibly sexy, but that’s inappropriate to say to a student, so I’d best not say any more on the subject.”

“That would be wise, Mr. Shermansky.”

Turning my focus to the problems in front of me, I slowly work through them, keeping only the dancing triangle in my mind. Amazingly, it makes it so much easier to concentrate and although I still need to refer to the formula each time, I think I’m actually getting the hang of it.

Damon watches quietly and patiently until I get through the page of questions.

“Very good, Alexa,” he says, as if he’s actually proud of me. “I think you did those last two at a great speed. And they’re all correct. How did it feel?”

Unable to keep from smiling, I look up to see him grinning at me. “It felt pretty damn good, actually. What other tricks have you got in your repertoire?”

“Oh you’ll see,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Just wait until we get to parabolas and polynomials and I bring over my slingshot and rocket,” he says in all seriousness before pointing at my textbook. “I want you to do five more of these, while you’re feeling comfortable and familiar with them, then we’ll move on,” he says, turning the page for me and getting up to do something at his board. “What’s your email address? I can send through notes and things related to what we revise.”

“It’s a Hotmail account, and I’m lexicon3000,” I reply distractedly. Tapping my calculator, I turn around when I hear him chuckling to himself. “What?”

Shaking his head, he continues swiping things on his screen. “I knew you had the nerd virus.”

“Yeah, well... you have a rocket.”

“Rockets are awesome,” he says, laughing again. “You’re a word junkie! Lexicon?”

Thinking my adopted email name is both clever and cool, I frown at him.

“3000.”

That only makes him laugh harder. Blushing, I return my attention to my workbook. A phone rings from over by Damon’s bag and he’s still trying to catch his breath from laughing as he makes his way over to it. Wiping a tear from his cheek, he swipes the screen and then taps it.

“Hey Ma,” he says, still affected by the occasional chuckle.

“Hi Damo. You sound happy. What’s so funny?”

Clearing his throat, Damon looks across the room at me. “Nothing, Ma. Just studying with a friend is all.”

“She sounds pretty,” his mother says, making me laugh.

What the hell kind of assumption is that?

Damon turns a delicious shade of red. “Yeah. Alexa is very pretty. Even with newspaper ink smudged across her forehead. And you’re on speaker-phone, so if you could not make me look like a total dick, I’d really appreciate it.”

Now his mom is laughing. “I’ll do my best, but make no guarantees,” she says as I start rubbing furiously at my forehead. “I just wanted to call and ask if it was alright with you if we had thanksgiving dinner early. As in the weekend before. Lara says she’s got something important to do, so she won’t be able to make it home except for that weekend.”

“Something?” Damon asks, his expression confused as he looks out the window. “Why does she always have to be so cryptic? What something important must she do?”

“Someone important, if you ask me,” his mom replies, laughing again.

“Mo-om!” Damon cries, tipping his head back in disgust.

“Oh, grow up. She’s twenty-one years old.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to think about it!” Damon says, pressing a stump to his head and flicking it away as if trying to gouge the very thought from his mind. Trying not to laugh, I pull my chair in and look at my books.

Muttering something under his breath, Damon laughs lightly. “Thanks so much for calling, Ma. I’ll come for dinner whenever you want. Just please stop torturing me.”

“Good. And remember you’re exempt from cooking this year because you’re on clean up.”

“Oh man. Can’t I be on turkey, or decorations? Surely someone with hands would be better suited to the role of washing dishes? I might break all of your fine china.”

“Damon Shermansky, it’s your turn. Nobody likes doing dishes, but you’ll do your share, just like everyone else. Fancy using your hands as an excuse when we both know you’re perfectly capable of doing the task. It’s your turn and you will clean up.”

“Okay Ma. Sheesh. It was worth a try.” Sighing, Damon looks at me and cringes. “Ma, I gotta go. I totally just lost all my cool points and have to earn them back. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay honey. Bye Alexa!” she calls through the phone to me.

“Bye Mrs. Shermansky,” I reply with a smile, still rubbing at my forehead as Damon swipes his phone off. Standing completely still Damon watches me carefully.

“How bad was that?” he eventually asks. “I can’t tell from the look on your face.”

Shaking my head, I return my attention to the final question I need to complete. “I don’t think I’d say it was bad,” I say, tapping my calculator and writing in my answer. “It was definitely entertaining. Your mom seems really funny.”

“Yeah. She’s a real hoot,” he says coming to sit next to me again and checking through my work. Smiling, he gives a nod of approval and flips through the textbook, probably to find some of those angles he was talking about.

“Does your mom drive you nuts?” he asks casually as he presses the pages flat at the next section.

Surprised, I keep my eyes on the books. “Ah, no.” My hollow voice gives me away, so I don’t bother to hide anything. “She died when I was eight, so we never really got to that part of the relationship.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sitting up straight and looking at me. “I -. That must have been very hard,” he says, his voice collapsing a little to sound more similar to mine.

“Actually it was only the beginning of the hard stuff,” I say quietly. “But I’ve survived so far, and I’ll be damned if a stupid math test is going to stop me from doing what I want, so shall we continue?”

Watching me a moment longer, Damon nods. Staring at the textbook a while, he finally gets up and returns to his Jamboard. Clearing his throat, he alters my triangle’s sides to make her look skinny and slanted.

“Angles,” he says, drawing an arrow to point at each one. “What to call them and how to measure them with, and without tools.”