Page 33 of Mr. Match

I never forgot about her though.

“Is this all you got?” Kat asks, breaking the silence. “After years of renovation all you have to show for it is an oversized garage?”

“Nah,” I say, recalling my question to her when she was trying to convince me she was badass that first day we met. I swing my leg over the bike and she follows. I take my helmet off and hang it from the handlebars, then take hers and do the same. “I got so much more for you, Kat. Your head will spin by the time we’re done.”

“God,” she says with a smile, morphing into the younger version of her I remember. “Why are you talking about being done? We haven’t even started yet.”

I lean in and kiss her. I close my eyes, thread my fingers into her long hair, pulling her into me. Like I can form her into a part of me if I fit our puzzle pieces together in just the right way. It’s a small kiss at first. Then my mouth parts, my tongue urging her to do the same. And I whisper, “Did you watch me jerk off in that video?”

She smiles into our kiss. “I didn’t just watch you, Mr. Shrike. I joined you.”

“Mmm,” I hum against her mouth. I kiss her again and pull back. Staring at her. “You have such a sweet face for such a dirty girl.”

“You always did like that part of me.”

“I like all parts of you, Katya Kalashova.”

I turn away, keeping her hand in mine as I walk us towards the door that leads to the other garages. We pass through two more bays and then I punch the security code for the lock the main door and open it for her.

I have the lights on an automatic timer—Ariel’s professional security suggestion, plus it’s good for my little tree—so the whole place is lit with a soft yellow-orange glow. I wave her forward and follow her in.

She looks up at my buckeye—which has grown six feet taller in her absence—and beams. “It’s so big.”

I take her hand and rub it against the hard bulge in my pants. “You never complained before.”

She laughs, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Her fingers tighten around my cock and she squeezes just enough to let me know we will definitely be picking right up where we left off. “Are we still on a pleasure-first, business-later schedule?”

“Pleasure comes from many things. And the very first thing I want to do with you tonight is listen.”

“What?” Kat laughs. “You’re going to make me beg for sex? Will I have to whine? Lavish you with personal compliments about your manhood?”

“Shit,” I say, smiling bigger than I have in years. “No, I just want to look at you for a little. And that might get awkward if one of us doesn’t talk. So that’s you, Kat. I hope you’re ready to confess everything. Because I want all the details starting from the minute you walked out on me at the tattoo shop.”

She sighs and pulls away to walk around the living room. “Well, all I want to do is look at you. And this place.” She looks all the way up at the ceiling and then I recognize the moment she spots the bedroom. Her eyes track the steel railing to the top of the stairs. “I’d like a tour of the new upstairs.”

“You mean my bedroom? You dirty whore.”

Any other girl would slap me for that remark. But not Katya. It’s a joke. She knows it’s a joke.

“If I’m a dirty whore you’re a disgusting pervert. The way you seduced me as teenager.”

“I’d do it again in a second.”

She comes back towards me and places both hands on my chest. “I’ll tell you anything you want, Oliver. But at the end of the conversation there better be a consolation prize.”

I grab her breasts with both hands and squeeze. Our lips crash together, tongues taking the lead this time, and we make out like the teenage lovers we never had the chance to be.

There were no date nights in our pasts. No trips to the movies with friends. No proms or homecoming dances.

I grew up the day my sister went missing and I’m convinced that Katya Kalashova was never a child, even when she was.

I know many things about her. Some she told willingly, some not. But there are too many gaps in her story for it to be anything other than tragic.

“Where did you go? Tell me,” I ask.

“Take me upstairs and get me naked,” she breathes into my mouth. “I’ll talk as long as you can keep your hands off me. So I guess you have to decide, Mr. Shrike. Do you want conversation? Or do you want to do all the things you’ve been missing?”

“Depends,” I say. “Will you leave out the bad parts?”