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Not that I’d keep her locked up and chained to my bed, or anything like that. Probably. Maybe. Fine, I totally would. But she stayed, so no need to resort to extreme measures.
Feeling uncharacteristically optimistic, I whistled a random tune as I grabbed a container from the fridge and stuck it in the microwave. I set the time as written on the attached note. By the time Kylie joined me in the kitchen, the food was done and I had two place settings out on the island.
"What is this?" She eyed the plates suspiciously, which—dammit—made me nervous.
Contrary to the near crippling anxiety that reached out and seized my insides, I gave her a casual shrug. "It's nothing. I have a chef who makes meals for the week and labels them so I can reheat them. I figured, you know, you might be hungry.”
"Oh.”
Oh? What the fuck did that mean?
“Oh good I'm hungry?” or, “Oh, why did you bother since I’m taking off now? Bye, thanks for the fuck?”
“Here." I ignored my nagging thoughts and handed Kylie a glass of ice water. She took the tiniest of sips before putting it down. “Are you hungry?” Without taking my eyes off her in case she tried to disappear, I gestured toward the barstools tucked under the granite slab. Hoping to encourage Kylie to stay, I pulled one out and sat, feigning indifference, even though, on the inside, I was on my knees, begging her not to go.
"Okay." Kylie sounded uncertain, but she joined me and that was what mattered.
We ate in relative silence, then, with no other activities planned, it was time. I spent days preparing and plotting, grappling over the best way to get some answers without coming across as nosy, and came up with a pathetic, but simple solution—use food to keep her busy while I asked the approximately ten thousand questions I’ve saved up since the first day I saw her in DC, all stunning and furious behind a sheet of scratched up acrylic.
I put down my fork and wiped my mouth, then angled my body in Kylie's direction. After steadying my nerves, I took a deep breath and went for it.
"So, how come I haven't seen you at any games recently?"
Kylie froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down slowly, deliberately, but not before I noticed how her hand shook.
“I-I’ve been busy.”
Disappointment socked me in the solar plexus, though I wasn’t surprised. I pretty much expected her to give a vague response. That was why I started with an easy one.
“Busy with work? What do you do?"
"Um, I don’t. I mean, I’m doing an internship. Not exactly working. I'm still… I'm still in school. After the internship I’ll get my degree."
I gaped. Not only because Kylie actually answered the question, but because it never occurred to me that she might be a student. Which brought to mind an uncomfortable follow up.
"School? Um, how old are you?"
Kylie snorted, then she blushed furiously and covered her mouth and nose with both hands. It was fucking adorable.
"Don't worry, I'm twenty-one. Totally legal.”
I exhaled. Thank fuck for small miracles. I should have asked before taking her to a hotel. I knew better than to mess around with a chick without making sure she wasn’t a one-way ticket to registered sex offender status.
Yet another blaring alarm warning me that Kylie totally knocks me off my game.
Her giggle tore me from the overwhelming relief in finding out she isn’t jailbait.
“What?"
"The look on your face," she said as she stifled another laugh. “Like you missed stepping on a land mine and getting blown to bits."
Her light, ringing laughter penetrated the hard shell around my black, empty soul and filled me up with warmth. Seeing her smile, I don’t know. Something about it did wonders for my state of mind and I found myself smiling and laughing along with her.
What was her secret? I mean, how in the hell did sh
e do it? How did she manage to completely disarm me each and every time we were together? When she wasn’t being mysterious and frustrating, that is.
“Actually, that’s a pretty accurate description of how it felt,” I admitted. Heart done having an attack, I got back to the interrogation. Kylie’s guard was somewhat lowered, and I wanted to get as many answers as I could before she shut me down. “Who do you know in the Comets organization?” She frowned like I just asked her how much she weighed. I hastened to clarify. “It’s just that I know those seats of yours are owned by management."
