"Wow," I said as I pressed my fingers on Deen's stomach. "You have really well-defined abs." I wasn't just telling her that as a friendly compliment; she really did. I could feel her firm muscles through the towel as I wiped her sweat—well, she really wasn't sweating much, or at all.

I knew she was asking me to help her wipe to tease me. And I wasn't going back down from this. I could see on her face she was expecting me to do so, and it just strengthened my resolve to overcome my hatred of physical contact to not to lose our stupid game that was sort of like 'Dare'.

"Re-really?" Deen said. I wondered about the crack of her voice so I looked up to see her blushing face. Our eyes met for a second, then she broke contact, looking to the side as she spoke, "I just, um, work out a lot. It's hard to watch my figure all the time, but I'm glad it paid off and you can feel it."

"Yeah, you got a really great definition. And you're not pushing for leanness either, which is surprising given how firm your muscles are beneath..." I removed the towel and examined her smooth milky midriff.

"Beneath what? My layers of fat? I'm not getting fat, am I?"

"Beneath your skin and flesh. Jeez, Deen. I wasn't calling you fat." I touched her bare skin with my hand, feeling her muscles once again. "You're maintaining a good body fat percentage while having awesomely toned muscles."

I had told myself earlier that I wasn't really jealous of Deen's beauty and body, but I think I might envy her when it came to this. Even at the height of my fitness during my high school cheerleader years—and I was pretty lean and fit back then—I couldn't achieve this. It was probably because I just had an extremely petite body due to my genes.

"Would you prefer it if you could see the cuts on my abs more?" Deen asked in almost a whisper. But I could clearly hear her because we were just a few inches away from each other, the cotton candy scent of her soap or perfume or whatever that was tickled my nose. "I mean," she continued, "I'm not sure how to become leaner, actually. I don't know how to burn fat since we're no longer...human."

"Beats me," I said with a shrug, my hand still on her stomach. "Our regeneration seems to bring us back to our prior state. How would it deal with the micro-tears on muscles from working out? Just repair it back to before instead of making stronger muscles?"

My fascination with Deen's body had pushed back my repulsion for physical contact. Rather than touching a human, I viewed it as examining an animal. Watching the Animal Channel as a kid was probably my most favorite pastime. And back then, I also enjoyed 'experimenting' with insects to see how their bodies worked. That was sort of my thought as I felt her muscles, wondering if I could achieve this now that I had a superhuman...rather, an inhuman...body.

"I also don't know," Deen said. Her breathing seemed to be a bit rugged, probably because she was embarrassed about some bullshit thing or another. But she wasn't complaining about my hand feeling her abdomen. "Can we even work out hard enough to cause micro-tears on our muscles?"

"Maybe you can find out since you exercise a lot," I said. "But you don't have to worry about your abs. They're great like this. The cuts are noticeable." I traced my finger over the lines on her midriff. "You're not joining a bodybuilding competition anyway. It's cuter like this."

"Cuter?"

I turned up to look at her once again. It was slightly irritating how short I was. To let out my frustration, I decided to tease her by running the nail of my index finger gently on her skin. She gasped when she felt what I was doing, but she only frowned at me. I replied to her question, "Yeah, cuter. I'm not great with adjectives."

"So it would seem. But why are you scratching me?" She raised a brow at me and pursed her lips.

"Just nothing..." I didn't back down. Oh, she isn't ticklish here? She was. Her breathing was short at times so I assumed she was trying to hold back her laughter. If that was the case, I was going to continue this until she cracked. I clawed my hand and touched her midriff, all my nails in contact with her skin, right above the waistline of her cycling shorts. Her eyes widened. Then I slowly raked her skin upwards until I reached the bottom of her sports bra.

She grabbed my wrist. "What are you doing?"

"You're using super strength on me again," I said, pouting at her with a hurt expression. "I thought we have a rule against that? Don't go making rules if you're the one who'll break it anyway."

"I thought you didn't want that rule,” she said. “And why are you tickling me?"

"I'm not...it's your problem if you feel ticklish with this."

"I see. So is that how it is?" Her grip on my arm tightened. My fingers still touched her abdomen. I wiggled them. She rolled her eyes at me. "That won't work on me, Erind Hartwell. Better admit your defeat graciously."

"Oh yeah?" I said, abandoning all pretense of not tickling her. Drastic times called for drastic measures. If I were to win this, I needed to do something that'd make Deen react but wouldn't trip off her Guardian Angel. And I just had the perfect move. I poked my finger into her navel.

"ERIND!!!" She let go of me. Covering her stomach with both arms, she ran to the kitchen side of the house and jumped over the sofa to hide behind it. "What the fuck?"

"Oh my god," I said between fits of genuine laughter. This was one of the most entertaining shit I'd seen in a long time. The Amber Deen Leska of Cresthorne Law running away while screaming? And that wasn't all. "You said 'fuck'. I'm flabbergasted by your uncouth language," I put my hand on my chest, pretending to be shocked. "Were you cursing me?"

"No, I-I wasn’t...Um, sorry," she stammered, covering her mouth. "Hey! Don't turn this around!"

"What are you talking about?" I broke into laughter once again. "I should have recorded your reaction. First-time ever captured on film, Amber Deen Leska saying 'fuck'."

"Why did you do that?" She glowered at me. But she didn't look that threatening with her strawberry-colored cheeks, her arms still wrapped around her stomach, and cowering behind the sofa.

"Do what?"

"Insert your finger—"

"What?" I interrupted in surprise. "I didn't insert my finger anywhere."

"—into my navel," Deen finished. "You did!"

"Deen, there's a world of difference between insert and poke. I only poked you. Insert sounds so..."

"Sounds what?"

"You know what."

"Poke is the wrong word," Deen huffed. She placed her hands on her hips. She bowed down, looking at her stomach. "The navel is a hole, right?"

"Um, I feel like you're getting too fixated on word usage here that it's bordering creepy." This was really amusing. Deen was showing her predictable traits and it made me happy. Getting focused on something—even random bullshit like whether the correct term was 'insert' or 'poke'—was normal for her. I had seen her argue, sometimes into absurdity, during our law classes if ever she really felt strongly about a topic.

She ran her hand over her stomach. "It's flat, right?"

"Okay?"

"But the navel has a depression. It's a hole in my stomach."

"I wasn't saying that the navel isn't a hole. You're really—"

"You inserted your finger—"

"Objection! That's a leading question."

"Your finger was inside my—"

"I only poked your navel," I said. "What's the big deal?"

"If it's not a big deal, then why won't you just admit that you buried your finger inside my navel?"

"Buried? You're using the word 'buried' now? Can we just go back to 'insert'?"

"So, you admit—"

"Sure, whatever," I shrugged. "I inserted my finger into your navel. There. Happy now?"

"No! Why did you do it?"

"Because you're so high and mighty claiming that tickling doesn't affect you. And now, Queen Amber Deen was defeated by one finger. She runs away while shrieking—"

"Nu-uh, I didn't do that."

I pointed to the corner of the ceiling. "Can we review the CCTV footage on that? I'll request for a subpoena from the court."

Deen glared at me and then forcefully exhaled like she was a fire-breathing dragon. I could feel her indignation radiate from across the room.

I guess I had enough fun bullying her. "Okay, I'm sorry for inserting my finger in your navel," I said, with as much fake sincerity as I could. It took a monumental effort to keep a straight face. "I'm really, really, really sorry about it. I promise I won't do that ever again."

She folded her arms across her chest.

"The apology isn't enough for you? What do you want to do? Do you prefer all Hammurabi Code on me?"

"Huh?" She raised a brow. "Why are you bringing legal history into this?"

"The Code of Hammurabi. You know? 'Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.' I'm asking you if you want to poke my navel too."

"Uh...um, I..."

"Oh my god, Deen," I said, my voice overcome by giggles. "You were really thinking of doing that to me?"

"No! I'm not going to do that to you. Would you even agree to that?"

"Of course not." I scrunched my nose at her.

"So why did you bring it up?"

I gave her a sheepish grin. "Because I want to see your reaction to it. And it turns out...you want to do it—"

"I accept your apology!" Deen yelled. She bent down and started pushing the sofa back into the living room. "I'm going to clean up now."

"Yay, I'm forgiven," I said with a chuckle. She ignored me as she continued to return all the furniture to their rightful place.