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“I don’t know how you keep doing this,” I complain with a smile as I change the input back to HDMI so her Firestick works correctly. “I showed you how to do this.”
“I still don’t understand it.” She gives me an innocent smile, swaying her hips like a little girl trying to be cute.
“If you want me to visit, just ask. You don’t have to sabotage the TV. I come every single time you call. It doesn’t have to be an emergency.”
“You didn’t once.”
I hand her the now working remote. “When have I not come when you needed me?”
“When the dryer hose came off the back of the machine.” She sounds exasperated, and I can’t help but smile.
“I was in Kuwait, Nana,” I remind her. “And I had someone over here within two hours to fix that for you.”
“Didn’t get fixed,” she complains. “Had to wait two weeks until you got home to do the laundry.”
“You wouldn’t let him in. I told you I verified him. He was not going to hurt you.”
“Tell that to his red hair. You know how I feel about warlocks.”
“Sweet baby—” I grip my hair in my hands and pull.
“You need a haircut.”
“I don’t.”
“Go sit on the back porch, and I’ll grab the clippers and the bowl.”
Nightmares of fourth grade picture day flash through my mind, but I don’t have to conjure the images from pure memory because my shame is still hanging in an eight-by-ten frame in the hallway. You may wonder how I got started with hacking. Nana is one hundred percent the reason for that. After the last haircut and bowl incident—which I never lived down among some of the kids at school—I started working online for cash to afford salon cuts.
“You’re not cutting my hair.”
“It would make an old lady happy if you let me get after that mop.”
“Not a chance. Sit down and I’ll make some tea. That will have to suffice.”Chapter 16Whitney
The knock on the door comes too early. Well, he’s right on time, but I’m not ready. Before I can let my mind think of the ways I’d like to be punished, I arrow to the door, first checking to make sure it’s Wren, before pulling it open with the chain in place.
He doesn’t look the least bit annoyed when I turn my head so he can see half my face—the half with completed eye makeup.
“I’m running a little behind,” I tell him with a weak smile.
He bites his lip, his eyes trying to get a peek of me through the crack. I purposely move a little further back to keep him guessing.
“Will I be waiting long?”
“Five more minutes?”
“That gives me a long time to think.” The movement of his hands catches my eye, and I’ll be damned if his pointer finger on his right hand isn’t tapping the silver metal of his belt, a delicious threat of sorts.
I want to clench my thighs together, but I’m already reminded every time I move that I disobeyed him by wearing panties. I could delve deeper into my psyche and insist that I wasn’t comfortable obeying his order, but honestly, it all boils down to acting like a brat, something I hope he takes notice of.
My cheeks heat when I finally make eye contact and he gives me that sexier-than-sin wink.
“Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
Not many people have been able to get away with calling me pet names, and as it were, baby is the most generic form any man could decide to use. So why do the two syllables hit me in the gut like he’s whispering promises he has every intention of following through with?
The warning tone of his voice is of my own making, and I know he intends it that way. Plus, anticipation is usually half the thrill.
When I close the door, I peek at him again from the peephole, rolling my lips between my teeth to find him bouncing around on his feet as if he’s trying to give himself a pep talk. He seems so sure when he’s in front of me. Is it possible he’s just as nervous about tonight as I am? God, wouldn’t that make things easier. I know it would make me feel less like a bumbling idiot. As wild as my fantasies get, I honestly don’t have much experience when it comes to men. And never have I had a man stand up and take full control even though it’s what my body needs most.
I rush to finish my makeup, not wanting to wait any longer to get our night started. When I’m finished, I find Simon crouched in front of the door batting at something, and as I stand there, I realize Wren is sliding his driver’s license back and forth so the cat can play with it.
