“He could, but I don’t think he will,” Russo said. “This guy is more anal than my father, and he sweeps the garage floor three times a day.”
I laughed a little at that.
“This is me,” I said, nodding to the far Airstream.
“Nice,” Russo said, appraising; then he turned his attention back to me. “You going to be okay tonight?”
Normally, I hated men who fussed over me, but Russo’s concern felt different.
“It’s not every day a homicidal maniac wants to kill me, but, yeah, I guess I’ll be okay,” I said, looking up at the round festive lights hung on the Airstream glowing a warm white in the night. Normally, they seemed bright and inviting, but now, when I looked at them, all I could think was that I’d be sleeping in a tin can tonight with a flimsy lock that would definitely not keep the Canceled Killer out. I never minded being on my own. Until now.
“Hey.” Russo grabbed my wrist. He turned me to face him, lifting my chin with one strong finger. “The killer has to get through me first.”
I blinked up at him, his steel-blue eyes serious as he met my gaze.
“You can’t be with me twenty-four seven,” I pointed out.
“Why not?” he asked.
And right then, the atmosphere shifted. I felt a surge of warmth in the air, snapping like static electricity, Russo’s meaning clear. He looked at my mouth like a dessert he’d been dying to try. He tooka step closer to me, closing the space between us. I got a whiff of pepper and sandalwood.
“All you have to do is invite me in,” he said. His eyes glittered with a promise. Russo had me close to his chest now, and I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze. His lips hovered just inches from mine.
My stomach seized with nerves and anticipation—or was it panic?—as he drew me to him. He was going to kiss me. I went still for a second, frozen in surprise.
Heat bloomed in my lower belly as his mouth claimed mine, his hunger lighting a need. He recognized it, too, deepening the kiss, his big hand on the small of my back, pressing me against him. Russo’s hands seemed to touch me everywhere, running down the curve of my butt, where he cupped me through my dress’s thin fabric. I felt dazed, as Russo devoured my mouth with a hunger that almost felt dangerous.
“Ahem.” Mom loudly cleared her throat from the porch. I sprang away from Russo as if he were lava.
“Mom!” I cried, guiltily wiping my mouth. Mom made her way down the wooden steps toward us. Her sleek, shiny black hair was perfect, her red lipstick always in place. Never smudged.
“Ophelia,” Mom said in her most formal tone, gaze cool as she eyed Russo. I kind of wished I could whisk him away—back to wherever he was staying, away from the watchful eye of my mother. My mistake had been letting him walk me home in the first place. I wondered if Mom had been watching us from the kitchen window this whole time. I hoped not.
“Jenny Leong,” Russo said, without being prompted. I hadn’t realized until that moment that Russo even knew who my mom was. I studied his chiseled profile, surprised. But then I realizedthat of course he knew who my mother was. He always did his homework.
“It’s Mrs. Takeda now,” my mother gently corrected, a curious eyebrow raised.
“I’m Aaron Russo. Pleasure to meet you.” He paused for a beat. “I have to apologize. I just… I never thought I’d meet you in person.”
My mom’s frosty reserve instantly melted. “Oh?” she asked, flattered. “You know my work?”
“Everyone knows your work! Your billboard was right outside the police academy, back when I was a cadet.”
I didn’t ask which billboard he meant, because Mom once did a stint for a swimsuit company when I was a kid where she lounged on a white leather settee in a glittering bikini, eating a bright red cherry.
Mom flashed Russo a genuine smile. “I like you,” she said. “Please, call me Jenny,” Mom said.
“Jenny,” Russo said, letting her hand go. “I was just making sure your daughter got home safely.”
“I appreciate that,” Mom said, nodding.
Dad came out then, wearing his faded Bon Jovi T-shirt, circa Slippery When Wet Tour, 1987.
“Hi, Mr. Takeda,” Russo said, as if he were the most polite prom date on planet Earth. “I’m Aaron Russo. Nice to meet you.” He offered Dad a handshake, and Dad took it warily. “Great shirt.”
Dad, always a man of few words, gave a single nod.
“I’m in from Chicago,” Russo continued. “Actually going to stay longer than I planned. Do you have any vacancies here at Koi?” Russo asked.
