Page 17 of Psycho

But…dear God, she was rail thin.

I could count all of her ribs. She used to be so plump, with curves like heaven that filled my hands. Sure, the last time we saw each other, we were in our early twenties. That was a long time ago and bodies changed.

It worried me though.

“Jesus Christ, Bobbie,” I exhaled, horrified.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she crossed her arms protectively over herself.

“That’s not exactly the reaction a woman wants to hear when she gets naked.”

I sighed and combed my fingers into her hair—that glorious, vibrant red. She used to be dishwater blonde, until she turned fourteen and got her hands on a box of cheap dye from the bargain bin at the corner store. It turned her hair a brassy orange, but Bobbie was thrilled at the wild rebellion of it.

Her hair color changed many times after that—lavender, hot pink, acid green. She never went with a natural shade, like brunette or black.

Deep down, I suspected she used her eye-catching hair color choices as a warning sign that was impossible to miss. Like a beacon in the night. Or the brightly colored camouflage of a poisonous caterpillar.

Red was her favorite. Not a dusky auburn or a carrot top. This was chili pepper red, or the blaze of a cop car’s red flashing lights in the dark. This was a red that undeniably sent a message: danger, do not approach.

Pulling Bobbie close, I kissed her, sweeping my tongue between her lips until she melted against me.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I replied, apologetically. “I was just…shocked. You weren't this thin before."

She shrugged, rubbing her arms.

“Maybe this is the way I am now. Maybe I’m not the person you used to know.”

A challenge—pushing me away.

Well, it wouldn’t work.

I took Bobbie’s arms, guiding them around my neck. Then I hooked my hands behind her knees and picked her up. She squeaked with surprise, locking her legs around my waist.

“In that case," I said. "I’ll get reacquainted with the body of my bride-to-be.”

Bobbie’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. She bit her lip, but she couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her face.

As I carried her into the loft, the light from downstairs provided a muted glow to illuminate my way. Since I didn’t spend much time in my bedroom thanks to my insomnia, it was sparsely furnished with the bare essentials and it didn’t have many homey touches. On nights when I inevitably crashed from exhaustion, I would often sleep in one of the spare rooms at the clubhouse.

I set Bobbie on the edge of the mattress, cupping her ankle to pull her boot off, then the other. She unbuckled her belt and raised her hips, shimmying out of her jeans until she was down to simple white cotton underwear.

“At least you don’t have on three pairs of pants,” I said.

Bobbie laughed, even though she couldn’t quite suppress a shiver at losing the heat of her layers.

“You’re lucky. I’m usually wearing long johns, and they’re definitely not sexy. That would kill the mood in a heartbeat.”

Concern tugged at the back of my mind as I catalogued everything I’d noticed about Bobbie so far.

Multiple layers of baggy clothes. Long johns. Skinny as a skeleton, like she was starving. Seeing her drive up to my house in that dump of a Range Rover, packed with stuff, so she was obviously living out of her car.

Bobbie shivered again, and it dawned on me that I was still standing here, lost in thought, with her other boot held in my grip. Trying to figure out what she wasn’t telling me. If I pushed her too hard for answers, she might make a run for it.

I needed to choose what was more important right now.

Digging for information?

Or having the woman I loved safe in my bed for the first time in years?