Page 64 of XO Karma

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Not to me?”

“Well, I don’t like to use my regular phone when I talk murder stuff,” he says, as if that string of words should form a sentence that isn’t absolutely bonkers.

“And I’m murder stuff?!” I shriek, pacing the room.

He chuckles. “I mean… yeah, kinda.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“Relax, Karma baby,” he says, and I force my stomach not to do the flippy thing. “I just know we’ll need to get in touch, and I think this is better, just in case.”

“In case what?”

“In case one of us gets caught.” A stone settles in my stomach. “It’s just a precaution.”

“You broke into my house.” Was it the first time?

“Your security consists of a fifty-year-old back door and a baseball bat set directly inside it.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

“In my defense, no one’s ever been crazy enough to break into my house.”

“What can I say?” I nibble on my lower lip. “I’m not like other girls.”

“And I have the scars to prove it.” His voice is low and sultry and fuck! I clench my thighs together. Down, girl!

“You could have just given me the phone last night when we were hiking,” I say, attempting to get the topic back on track.

“But then I wouldn’t know you still have pose fourteen wrapped in my T-shirt and hidden in your panty drawer.”

“Aster!” I stomp over to the dresser in question. “You looked through my underwear drawer? Do you not see how creepy that is?” I rip it open, hand digging to the bottom, and pull out his shirt and the photo. A little piece of paper floats to the floor, and I snatch it.

Wear me when you’re lonely.

xo, grim

P.S. I like the red lacy ones.

“You are insufferable,” I tell him, but I don’t mean it.

“Aw, you love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“I can work with that.”

“And now I can’t wear the red ones anymore,” I grumble.

“I’m fine with no panties too.” His tone drips with insinuation, and my cheeks flame.

“I have plans tonight,” I blurt, needing an immediate exit from this conversation that’s bearing dangerously towards phone sex. “I have to go.”

“Do those plans involve the lacey ones I like?”

“Aster!” I snap, my cheeks redder than my favorite lipstick. “You can’t ask me things like that.”