Belle froze. Her lips moved while she divided by eight, subtracted forty percent, added the bonus back in, and arrived at a number. Her shoulders came down, and the red faded from her face at a visible speed.
"Fine. I forgive you for approximately twelve percent of this."
"Only twelve?"
"The other eighty-eight percent is going to cost you, and you're going to pay it in person."
She turned and walked toward the changing tents, and she added an extra sway to her hips that she absolutely knew I was watching. The torn suit peeled a little further with every step. One of the medics dropped a roll of gauze.
Naomi let go of my hand and bent to wring her hair out onto the grass. The Gold buff still lit her from inside, soft amber glowing at her throat and wrists. The diagonal tear across her chest had widened on the way through, and the neoprene barely held on over one breast now, pinned in place by nothing but surface tension and faith. She caught me looking and didn't cover up.
