by Fault lines
I had on a halter top under my T-shirt, and ordinarily, I would have taken the opportunity to take off my T-shirt, but I decided not to. I wasn't feeling any too sure of myself
Adam caught me looking at him. "You look good," I said lightly. "I see you're keeping up with the exercise." I tried to sound detached. Just a noninvolved observer. I started dribbling as Adam walked up. He went into his defensive stance, and I faked a drive and started to go up for a shot, but Adam grabbed the front of my T-shirt and spoiled the shot.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound annoyed. "What are you doing? We're playing b-ball, for Christ's sakes." But Adam didn't let go. He just stood there holding my shirt. Silence fell in the gym. I didn't know exactly what to do. I didn't even know exactly what I wanted to do. Then Adam started slowly pulling me toward him, gently but insistently. When I was inches from him, he released my shirt and hooked his thumbs in the corners of my waistband.
"It isn't a foul unless you call it," he said. Great minds think alike. He started to slowly pull down my shorts, looking in my eyes all the while. I had a lot of time to call it. I mean, I could have called it, and I knew his fingers would have instantly sprung back. But there was that scientific experiment I'd wanted to do. It's important to support science.
I could feel the shorts slipping down inch by inch.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANNA SALTER, Ph.D., a forensic psychologist and internationally known authority on sex offenders, has written two academic books on child abuse and lectured throughout the United States and abroad. She is the author of a previous novel featuring Michael Stone, Shiny Water, available from Pocket Books. Dr. Salter is in private practice in Madison, Wisconsin, and consults to the Wisconsin Department of Corrections.