"Robert Reed - Show Me Yours" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

The young man stands beside a narrow bed--a woman's bed with a headboard made of iron and a
flowery bedspread pulled against the wall and embroidered pillows stacked haphazardly on the floor.
With considerable care, he holds a long bare foot in the crook of one arm. With a fingertip, he brushes at
the foot's sole, working to elicit a reflexive flinch. Nothing happens. The woman on the bed is naked,
lying on her stomach, her face turned toward the watching girl. Like the door, her eyes are just a little
open. But nothing seems to register in her mind. When the man drops the foot, the bare leg collapses.
When he slides his hand over her rump and between her legs, she doesn't react. And when he fishes a
lighter out of a back pocket and makes a tall flame and holds it close to the dreamy, drugged eyes, she
does nothing to show that she sees anything at all.
Satisfied, he straightens and reaches for the lamp.

The girl in the black robe backs away from the door as the light goes out. Then she moves to the
opposite end of the brief hallway, into the darkened living room, sitting on an old upholstered chair. She
breathes hard now, even when she only sits. Nearly a minute passes. Her dimly lit face is a little wet with
perspiration and her mouth is open, gulping at the air. When the man appears, she says nothing. She
watches him return to the kitchen, watches him look around for a moment before glancing into the open
bathroom. Has she slipped out of the apartment? He must be asking himself that question. Then he
decides to investigate the other bedroom, giving the wooden door a little rap before putting his hand on
the knob.

"Here," she calls out.

He jumps, just slightly. Then he steps into the living room, his face obscured by shadow but something in
his posture implying a large, consuming smile. Quietly, he says, "Hey."

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

He shakes his head, laughing softly. "Guess."

"What's funny?"

"You."

She says nothing.

"Your roommate ... she told me you don't like men that much...."

"She said that?"

"Just now," he lies.

"Some men are nice," she says. "On the right occasion, I might."

"Really?"

She crosses her pink socks.

"Hey," he says. "Want a drink?"