Gemotions

It was a small, unassuming passbook, tucked away in the back of a drawer. But the numbers… oh, the numbers sang to him. His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet of the bedroom. A delicious tension coiled in his gut.

He read the entry again, and again, unable to tear his eyes away. He felt like he could run a marathon. He glanced at the window, at the vibrant green of the trees outside. A need for air, for space, surged through him. He pictured the reaction on her face.

He picked up the phone, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He should call her, right? He should tell her he knew. He leaned back in the chair, eyes gleaming, and waited.