Page 47 of His Pet

I shiver at the idea of anything actually happening to Lorenzo. What would that mean for me? It isn’t like I’d hop in his car and get back to my life. His family knows about me.

Would they let me go?

We’re walking side by side, and I turn my head to glance at him. The break in the trees allows more light to shine down on him, and the first hint of a sunrise makes his features even more visible. I eye the scar that runs over his eye, then dip to his lips. I’ve felt them many times on my skin, and only once on my mouth.

I face forward and brush loose strands of hair over my sweaty forehead.

Something occurs to me, and it causes discomfort to settle into my bones. There’s more to it than me not wanting to face his brothers if something happened to him. I care about him. In a twisted kind of way. Some days all I can think about is how he’s stolen my life from me, and others all I want is for him to come home. I hate him and want his companionship at the same time. It’s confusing.

I push out the thoughts and slow when Lorenzo puts an arm over my chest. His forearm grazes my nipples, and they harden. He presses a finger to his lips, then he drops his arm.

We creep up to the bank, and I hear the beavers splashing before I make them out. Lorenzo’s steps don’t make a sound, and his body moves swiftly as we approach. I try to mirror his every move, but don’t suspect I come close.

We get within ten yards of the beavers before Lorenzo stops and crouches next to the bank. He quietly takes off his shoes and socks, and then his shorts. He eases himself into the water, pulling off his shirt and tossing it by his shoes before the water hits his waist.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

He glances at me and smiles, his toothy grin a dare he knows I’ll take.

I glance between him and the beavers as I take off my shoes. I dip my toes into the water and jerk them out.

“It’s freezing,” I hiss, keeping my voice low.

Lorenzo’s eyes light up with amusement, and then he starts wading in the water toward the beavers. “Suit yourself,” he whispers, leaving me behind.

I glance between him and the water and consider watching the beavers from here. Some splash in the water while others carry branches to the bank. It’s incredible. Something you’d see on National Geographic.

There’s no way I’m missing out on this.

My teeth grind when I force myself to ease into the river. I don’t go as far in as Lorenzo. He’s neck deep and doesn’t appear to be concerned about dying of hypothermia, nor is he at all concerned about me.

I wade through the water toward him, fighting the current. I can tell I’m making too much noise, and as I approach, I lower myself until the water level kisses my belly button. When I’m as far upstream as Lorenzo, I stop, him several feet away and closer to the middle of the river.

With a deep breath, I move toward him, every new strip of my skin shocked when it hits the cold water.

“Careful,” Lorenzo says, looking toward me. “The current gets stronger over here.”

I roll my eyes and push off that way until I nearly bump into him. “I was on the swim team in college. I can handle it.”

“That explains the dive through the ring.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it, and I’m grateful he can’t see the surprise that springs to my face.

We haven’t talked about that night since it happened. Even afterward, back at Lorenzo’s, we didn’t talk about it. He held me on the sofa while I cried, and then he went to bed while I slept in the living room. No more chain. No more ‘no using the furniture’ rule. I took it as his way of apologizing, but he never said the words.

I turn back to the beavers and try to concentrate on them.

“I’m glad you knew to do that,” he says.

“Huh,” I huff, anger heating me. The water doesn’t feel so cold anymore. “I figured you would’ve been disappointed.”

Lorenzo turns my way, and it’s my turn to ignore it. He faces the beavers after only a few moments. “Did you know beavers are among the largest rodents in the world? They average sixty pounds.”

I remember the fact from a documentary I watched with Jasmine, but I don’t say this. He’s changing the subject, and I refuse to let him.

“They also—”

“Are you going to let me go?” I don’t expect an answer. He never gives me one.

Tension sits heavily between us, and it may as well be a physical barrier. Rushing water is all I hear for several seconds, and I close my eyes and focus on the tiny water droplets that kiss my face.

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