The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

My brain short-circuited.

She wasn’t pulling back. She was leaning into the contact. Adjusting her position so my hand sat more firmly on her inner thigh.

What the actual fuck.

I squeezed again, less tentatively this time. More deliberately. My fingers spreading slightly against her skin.

Diane’s breathing changed. Not dramatically. Just enough that I could hear the difference in the quiet theater.

〘 Diane Fitzgerald – Temptation Gauge: 23% (+4%)

Status: Aroused, conflicted, testing boundaries

Recommendation: Continue contact. Subject responding positively to physical initiation. 〙

Twenty-three percent. She’d jumped four percent from a hand on her thigh.

This was insane. This was absolutely fucking insane. I was sitting next to her daughter while touching Diane’s bare thigh under a blanket and she was letting me do it.

"This movie is ridiculous," Sloane said beside me, completely oblivious. "Nobody defuses a bomb while kissing someone."

"It’s fantasy," Diane replied, her voice perfectly normal. Steady. Like she was genuinely critiquing the screenwriting and not currently letting her ward’s hand rest several inches above her knee. "That’s the whole point of the genre."

My hand stayed on her thigh. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. The smoothness of it. The way her muscle tensed slightly under my palm every time something loud happened on screen.

And underneath all of that, I could feel her pulse. Fast. Faster than it should be for someone who was just sitting here watching an action movie on a Friday night.

Sterling was in a car chase now. Bullets ricocheted off metal in slow motion as he redirected kinetic energy through his palms, making his car accelerate impossibly fast while bad guys unloaded automatic weapons from three different vehicles. The action ramped up with explosions blooming across the screen, tires screeching, glass shattering in crystalline sprays that caught the light.

Sloane shifted beside me, adjusting her position against my shoulder.

I waited until she settled.

Then I moved my thumb. Just slightly. A small, deliberate circle against the inside of Diane’s thigh.

She inhaled through her nose. Barely audible over the gunfire and orchestral score. But I heard it.

Her hand moved under the blanket.

For a second, I thought she was going to push mine away. Wrap her fingers around my wrist and physically remove it from her leg. Tell me, very quietly and very firmly, that this was not happening and would not be happening again.

Instead, her fingers wrapped around my wrist and stayed there.

Not pulling away.

Not guiding me off.

Holding me there. Confirming the contact. Acknowledging it in a way that made it impossible to pretend this was accidental proximity under a shared blanket.

My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was genuinely concerned both of them could hear it over the sound of Sterling’s car flipping end-over-end in a fiery explosion.

Diane’s grip on my wrist tightened slightly, then relaxed. She wasn’t moving my hand. She was just acknowledging it. Confirming she knew exactly what was happening under this blanket.

The quest timer appeared in my vision: 0:00:37 of 7:00:00 with Diane Fitzgerald.

Thirty-seven seconds down. Six minutes and twenty-three seconds to go.

Then I had to do the same thing with Sloane.

While sitting between both of them.

Without either of them figuring out I was touching the other one.

I was so completely fucked.

"You want some water?" Sloane asked suddenly, already starting to get up.

"I’m good," I said, probably too fast.

She paused, looking at me. "You sure? You look kind of flushed."

"Theater’s warm."

"It’s literally sixty-eight degrees in here," Sloane said. "Mom keeps it cold."

"Then I’m having an internal crisis. Pick one."

She narrowed her eyes but settled back down, tucking herself against my side. Her head rested on my shoulder and her hand landed on my chest over the blanket.

Diane’s fingers were still wrapped around my wrist under the blanket. Holding my hand against her thigh while Sloane cuddled into my other side completely unaware.

This was the worst decision I’d ever made.

This was also somehow working.

On screen, Sterling was sneaking through an enemy compound, taking out guards silently while dramatic music played. The woman in red appeared again, this time holding a gun on him.

"I knew you’d come," she said in a sultry voice.

"You always were smarter than me," Sterling replied.

"Smarter, faster, and significantly better-looking."

They started making out immediately, the gun falling to the floor forgotten.

"God, the sexual tension in this movie is unreal," Sloane muttered against my shoulder.

You have no idea, I thought.

I shifted slightly, adjusting my position to get more comfortable. My hand moved a bit higher on Diane’s thigh in the process. Just an inch. Maybe two.

She inhaled sharply.

Her grip on my wrist tightened again, but she still didn’t push me away. If anything, her legs spread slightly wider under the blanket.

The silk of her nightgown had ridden up almost completely. My hand was touching bare skin halfway up her inner thigh with nothing between us except body heat and terrible decisions.

〘 1:43 of 7:00:00 elapsed. Current contact sustained. Subject arousal increasing. Continue current approach. 〙

One minute forty-three seconds. Five minutes and seventeen seconds left with Diane.

Then seven full minutes with Sloane.

While Diane sat on my other side knowing exactly what I was doing.

I was going to die. This was how I died. Not in combat, not at Halloran, but on a loveseat between two women while Victor Sterling saved the world one explosion at a time.

Sloane shifted against me, getting more comfortable. Her hand slid down my chest to rest on my stomach over the blanket. She was so close I could feel her breathing.

My right hand was still free under the blanket.

The System wanted me to touch both of them. Seven minutes each. Sustained contact. Undetected.

Diane already knew about her side. She was actively participating at this point. But if I touched Sloane now while Diane held my other wrist, we’d cross from questionable decisions into absolute chaos territory.

Sterling was rappelling down the side of a building now, still somehow looking perfect in his tuxedo. The woman in red was shooting at him from a helicopter.

"He’s going to catch her," Sloane said confidently. "She’s definitely going to betray her bosses for him."

"Obviously," Diane agreed. "The whole movie is about their dynamic."

Her voice was so steady. So normal. Like she wasn’t currently holding my wrist while my hand rested on her inner thigh under a blanket.

I moved my thumb again. Slow circles against her skin. Testing how far I could push this.

Diane’s breathing hitched.

Her grip loosened on my wrist. Then her hand slid up my forearm slightly, fingers trailing along my skin.

What the fuck was happening.