12

Veronica

"Why do I make you so nervous, Veronica?" he asked, setting a mug on the counter.

I turned around and looked up and found an array of tea bags in the cupboard. "You don't," I said weakly, focusing on reading every box.

"I told you I don't expect to bed you. I thought that would ease your mind."

I concentrated on opening a tea bag.

"Unless you wanted me to, that is. I'm open to the idea, of course."

"You like messing with me," I said, watching the water as he filled my mug.

"I do. It's so easy."

He set the pot down and went over to the sink. On his way there, he glanced down at his shirt, which was smeared with dirt. He pulled it over his head and dropped it down a chute along one of the walls. A laundry chute. I had one in my room too. He stood with his back to me, scrubbing his hands and splashing water on his face. I wasn't sure if it was the marks I noticed first, thin silvery lines crisscrossing flesh, or his powerful back flexing with muscle at the movements.

When he tur