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“You need to get him to work on the delivery. It’s too robotic.”
I don’t tell her that the app I’m testing is almost entirely my own work, that I prefer to work in codes and numbers where language barriers make little difference, or that Rebel helped me with the initial startup. I simply nod and agree with her. It’s another piece of shit thing I thought I could do but it turns out I can’t.
“Want an angry voice?” Raven laughs.
“Your friend should record me and Rebel. We’re the best screamers. Or maybe Baxter for that quiet fury. It would be cool to have different voices you could use – like Siri.”
I frown at her and she pulls out her phone. Within a few short taps her phone is speaking to her – the same stuck up posh male guy that’s on all iPhones I think. I never use Siri. The fucker can’t understand a word I say.
She taps again and the standard welcome phrase is repeated, this time by an American guy, she presses again and again, showing me the different options. There’s both male and female, and although slightly computer generated, they’re nothing like my constipated robot voice. Hmmm. Her idea has merits.
“I like the Australian guy because he sounds super sexy.”
I grunt.
“Not sexy. You have sexy enough.”
She laughs.
“I have enough sexy guys to look at, but I’m definitely not getting enough sex.” She winks at me. I chuckle because I know for a fact that she and Thorn had sex last week because he couldn’t help bragging about it.
“Offering?” I ask, raising a brow and trying to bite back a smile.
“Am I offering you sex or are you offering me sex?”
“Same.” I shrug. Suddenly, cookies and kitchens seem completely uninteresting.
Raven smiles and looks around the kitchen.
“Perhaps not here. But you still look like you have a lot of tension to work out. Want to spar with me?”
“Yes.”
“Come and get me then.”
She grins and walks backwards out of the kitchen and I don’t need telling twice. I take off after her watching her ass as she races away and heads for the basement, completely forgetting I have two dozen cookies in the oven.
By the time I catch up with Raven she’s already punching the shit out of the bag, bouncing on the balls of her feet, with her guard up.
I cross over to her and stand behind her, my hands on her ass. I squeeze and she grunts.
“Višje. Higher. On toes.”
She obeys, her ass rubbing against my crotch.
“Težje. Harder.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working your tension out, not me?”
“Works,” I chuckle, squeezing her ass again. It’s better than any stress ball.
Impulsively, I lift her up so that she has to stop punishing the hanging bag and has no choice but to wrap her arms and legs around it to cling on.
Already my bad mood is slipping away. I want to play.
“Hold on,” I tell her. I give the bag a push and it swings back and forth. Raven laughs. I grab her hips to steady her and keep the bag still, and then slide my right hand round to her front. She sucks in a breath as I slide my palm down her bare abdomen and into her yoga pants.
“Aljaž,” she warns. Normally I’d do anything she says when she breathes my name like that, but I want to play and distract myself from my massive to do list. So I push my hand a little deeper.
