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"You want to... carry on seeing me?" My head swirls with impossible possibilities, every last one riven with danger. I don't care. She wants to keep seeing me.
"Duh, I'm completely in love with you." That mischievous smile is back. "Please come visit. I'll pay your petrol money. Please come. Pleeeease."
I snort a laugh. "Don't beg, Kayla. It's unseemly."
"Although," she stands up suddenly, pulling the wad of tissue away from between her legs and crinkling her pretty little nose at it. "I'd like to do more than just see you. Much more. I'll beg for that too, if I have to. We can talk about it, maybe, when I've been to the bathroom."
Fucking hell. "Okay. I mean, that sounds like a conversation I'll enjoy."
She turns, stops at the bedroom door, looks back over her shoulder. "And when we're done talking, maybe we could, you know... do what we just did. Again. If you can, like, manage it, that is. Being an old man, and everything."
She ducks out, laughing, leaving me sitting on the bed with the soft toys on her desk peeking out at me from behind the computer, and a hundred hand-drawn manga faces looking down on me from the walls. Faces, cartoonish and crude, but which I can now see are Kayla's and mine, our characters all in different costumes and different poses, but always touching. Always together.
"Yes, Kayla Canning," I say to the empty room, my cock already twitching again. "I reckon I could manage that."
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