Page 16 of His Hostage

“What? Why is that funny?” she asks.

“You’re cute,” I tell her.

She turns beet red and walks out of my place, just like that. “It’s a compliment,” I call after her.

She lectures me as we walk toward the main road into town. “Yeah, well, when you get to be my age, cute isn’t exactly nice to hear.”

I run up beside her and wrap my left hand around her waist. She wriggles out of my grasp and looks at me like I’m crazy again.

“Come on,” I say. “Lighten up.”

“You have weapons in your house. You live next door to me. What if you shot me on accident?” she asks.

“It’s an open carry state, sugar,” I tell her. “It’s in my right to carry a weapon. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’m trained. I know how to shoot a gun. You have to stop acting like I’m such a threat to you. I thought we were best friends.”

“Come on, Rowan.”

I scratch my head. “You know, I think it’s you who has to ‘come on.’ I’ve been dealing with the insults like a gentleman. I’m trying here,” I say.

We’re near a small coffee shop, but she stops short of the walkway. “I’m sorry,” she says, again. “I’ve been kind of uptight since I’ve met you. I shouldn’t be. I came out here to be free, and now I’m acting like some old woman or something. I don’t get what’s wrong with me.”

She looks as if she’s about to break down, and I suddenly don’t know how to react. I’m no good at this emotional shit, but I do the best I can to comfort her when she collapses on a bench outside.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, rubbing her back.

Her skin feels nice from the opening of her dress. It’s not the time for dark thoughts, but I have to think she’s a little insane for thinking she’s too old to be of value. She’s just about perfect to me.

“It’s not okay,” she says, shielding her eyes.

“Fine, it’s not okay,” I acquiesce.

My reaction only irritates her further, so I find myself telling her to “hold on one second,” while I run inside and order the first four pump caramel latte I’ve ever ordered in my life.

‘Course, when I bring it out to her, I expect smiles, laughter, and maybe a blowjob later on. Instead, I get another short smile.

“I usually drink ice coffee,” she says.

My jaw drops. There’s nothing else I can do for this woman. I give up. She’s just too damn stubborn. “Look, I don’t know what happened to—”

“Rowan,” she interrupts. “I’m kidding. Do you really think I’m that much of a bitch?”

Don’t even get me started.

8

Caroline

Rowan gives his best smile. “I knew you were joking.”

I frown. “I know I’ve been uptight, okay?”

He grabs his pack of cigarettes and nearly rips the top open. “Sorry, I guess I forgot what a joke sounds like. Been down in this shit-hole for way too long.”

“Yeah, well you’re lucky,” I say. “At least you haven’t been taken hostage by your husband.”

He glances at me and nods. “So that’s your hang up, huh? You’re a divorcee?”

“Something like that,” I admit.

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