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Pressed against the wall on the roof of an office building, Maria, in a shy attempt to look around, leaned slightly forward, immediately feeling how her breasts — full, firm, shapes that had been foreign to her until now — gently swayed under the thin fabric of her blue jumpsuit. She straightened abruptly, pressing her palms against the cold concrete of the parapet. Her fingers, now delicate with a pearly manicure, were trembling.
— What the hell... — she tried to curse, but her voice, high and sweet like caramel, cut off the phrase halfway. And that strange smile, seemingly glued to her face, wouldn’t go away — like it was her habit: if you’re nervous, smile.
«Mike. I’m Mike Smith. IT specialist. 34 years old. I smoke Marlboros, hate Mondays...» she kept telling herself mentally, squeezing her eyelids shut. But even her inner monologue sounded foreign — soft, with a slight tremor. She opened her eyes again and stared at her hands. Her skin, smooth and pale, shimmered in the cold April sun. But where were the scars? The one from falling off a bike when she was ten had disappeared.
— No way... — she whispered, and her lips stretched into a smile on their own, as if mocking her panic.
...
Just ten minutes ago, he — Mike — had gone up to the roof to wait out the meeting. He took a drag from his cigarette, turning his back to the wind, and suddenly, the air around him trembled, like a scorching haze. His fingers went numb, and his temples thudded: thud-thud-thud, like someone was tapping a code into his skull. And then... Pain. Sharp, like an electric shock, piercing every cell.
When consciousness returned, he was already standing, leaning against the parapet. His cigarette lay on the asphalt, smoldering. But that wasn’t the main thing. The main thing was his body. Not his body.
...
— Maria? What the hell are you doing here?
The voice made her flinch. Turning around, she saw a man in a gray suit with a cup of coffee in his hand. It was Bob Stevenson, Mike’s colleague, known for his escapades with women and a local womanizer, and among the IT guys, he was almost like a demigod when it came to relationships with women. The number of girls who had been in his bed was already beyond count.
"Bob! Damn it, you won’t believe the shit that happened to me!" Maria wanted to scream, but instead, she said:
— Bob, — her voice cracked into a high pitch, — sweetie, you won’t believe what happened to me! — she said, and her lips involuntarily stretched into a flirtatious smile. She felt like her body was living its own life: her hips swayed slightly, and her hands automatically fixed a lock of hair that had fallen on her forehead. Inside, though, there was a storm. "What the hell?! Why am I talking like I’m flirting with this idiot?!" — Mike’s inner voice screamed, but his words stayed inside, unable to come out.
Bob raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He took a step closer, his gaze sliding over her figure, lingering on the open line of her waist and her full breasts, accentuated by the tight blue jumpsuit.
— Oh, baby, you know how to grab attention, — Bob said, his voice like honey dripping from a spoon. He took another step closer, and Maria felt her body react to his approach: her breasts lifted slightly, and her hips unconsciously pushed forward. She wanted to step back, but her legs felt glued to the spot.