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“Yes, yup. Correct. You got it,” I stutter.
Oh, how mortifying!
“How the hell do you expect me to believe something so shocking? You said you dated some men.”
“That is true.”
“And?”
“And it just never happened. We never got to that point.”
“And with yourself?” he probes. “You just don’t try to get there? Out of fear or shame or what misconception?”
“Trust me, I try to get there.”
“Then why can’t you?”
“I get close and then I have no idea.” I want to cry, I am that frustrated. “I just can’t. Maybe I’m broken.”
“Shit. Well, this situation has to be remedied. You are missing out on life, with or without a man.”
“I try. I continue to try.” Shut up, Angie. Shut. Up.
“Sweetheart, I know I got you that gift. But I would rather you put it away in your nightstand drawer for the time being. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Why?”
I want to play! Tonight might be the night it works.
“I was a little overzealous and missed some valuable information where you are concerned. In due time, you can use them. Just wait for now. Can you do that?”
Okay, this is confusing. “Sure.”
“Oh, and Angie?”
“Hmm?”
“Come downstairs and let me inside.”
“What?”
“I’m at the door, kitten.”
23
A muffled squeak escapes my mouth, and I do sound like a cat.
At the door? What is Graham doing here? I end the call abruptly and hop around the room, trying to calm my nerves.
I nearly throw myself down the steps to get to the door fast enough, afraid to make the beast wait too long out in the cold. I glance into the living room and say a silent thank you that Ethan and Claire are locked in her room—hopefully asleep. My shaky hands unlock the door and pull it open to find Graham standing there. He is wearing loose fitting jeans, a dark maroon V-neck sweater, and an opened black jacket. He looks yummy and dangerously sexy.
Graham’s eyes rake over my appearance. “You almost look”—he smirks—“innocent.” His voice comes out sharp. “But it’s just an illusion, I’m sure.” Both his brows rise with his forehead, and his eyes give me the stern, authoritative look. It’s the same look I would often get when disobeying my elders as a child. I want to turn away from the awkwardness, but I don’t dare break the contact. He has officially put me in my place with a single look. Talent exemplified.
“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” I ask, moving back to allow him into the warmth.
“It’s called hunger.”
“So you want dinner?” I ask stupidly.
