on 2013-10-20 01:41 am (UTC)
brian_campo: (mountain)
Posted by [personal profile] brian_campo
In his book, that little joke was about as valuable as a signed permission slip.

“Next time, it’ll be in the front,” he promised. “Just not in your pocket.” Because he was dying to touch her there, and had spent about a dozen hours going over the scenario in his daydreams. Brian flicked her chin with the pick and then he took a step back.

“Watch,” he said softly, “and be amazed.”

The yellow pick rested in the palm of his hand, which he held at chest height between them. Brian took a deep breath and blew it out, and hoped he had the sense to know when the pick was actually airborne as opposed to just looking that way to his addled mind. Man, would that be embarrassing. The yellow, which had been the harmless color of a banana, seemed to Brian to glow on a backdrop of his palm’s pale skin under a solitary streetlight. Up, he thought, projecting the command to the piece of plastic and giving it a little bump in the air.

And that was all it took. Brian eased his palm away and the pick hovered in a far more controlled display than the accidental toppling of household objects and exploding of light bulbs that Valerie had witnessed. Spin. The pick began a wobbling rotation, and when it obeyed, damn if he didn’t look as surprised as she might.
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