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Keith clears his throat, drawing me back to the present. “So, um, Sam tells me you quit the coffee shop,” he hedges.
“Oh, yeah, it was too much,” I lie. “I was having trouble staying focused on my studies.”
“Ah,” he says, and I can’t tell if he believes me or not.
Eager for a change in subject, I search for something to say.
“Oh, hey, do either of you know how to pick a lock?” I ask.
“It depends. What type of lock are you trying to pick?” Keith asks.
“It’s a closet, actually. The new place I’m, uh, renting”—I shoot Sam a look—“has a locked closet.”
I’d noticed the locked closet door as soon as I moved in. When I asked Miriam for a key a couple days later, she told me that Kohl had the only key—which, of course, piqued my curiosity. Why lock it? What could he possibly be hiding in there? I’m dying to know.
“Ah, those locks are pretty easy. You just need two paper clips.” He takes a pen and a scrap of paper out of his cargo bag and draws me a diagram. It looks way more complex than he lets on, but I nod anyway, convinced I can figure it out.
It’s about four o’clock when my last class finally lets out and I rush over to the house to shower, shave my legs and get ready for Kohl’s visit. But my first order of business is trying to break into that damn closet. I find a couple of paperclips at the bottom of my backpack and bend them exactly as Keith instructed. For fifteen minutes, I struggle to turn the tumbler, but it won’t budge. No matter how hard I try, the damn thing won’t move. Finally I just give up.
I don’t really have time to be breaking into closets, anyway. Kohl will be here in a couple hours. I need to finish getting ready for his visit. I take my time in the shower. When I’m done, I step out of the stall and towel off. Music is blaring from the speakers in the bedroom—playing from my super secret boy band playlist. If my friends ever find out I have these songs on my Spotify, there will be no end to the torment they’ll inflict on me.
But right now, it’s just me, and I let the music carry me away. I slip on a matching bra and pantie set, then brush out my hair as I move my hips to the rhythm of the music and belting out the lyrics at the top of my lungs.
I hop onto the bed and jump to the beat, singing so loud my throat feels raw. By the last chorus, I’m breathless and exhausted. As the song ends, I turn to jump off the bed, but I stop dead when I see Kohl leaning against the door frame, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He reaches over and disconnects the speakers.
All the blood drains from my face, and I’m awash in humiliation. I take a deep breath, feeling the slow burn of a blush wash over me.
“How much did you see?” I ask.
“Enough to admire the very pleasant view of your backside.”
I grab my white, fluffy robe off the chair, slipping it over my shoulders. Glancing at the alarm clock next to the bed, I note that it’s just after five.
I swallow. “You’re early. I thought you had a meeting downtown.” I haven’t brushed out my hair or done my makeup yet. Self-consciously, I run my fingers through my hair and clear my throat.
I allow my gaze to rake over him. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, open at the collar, and dark jeans that hug his powerful thighs perfectly. And he’s as beautiful as ever, those blue eyes never leaving me.
He pushes off the wall and moves to stand in front of me. Opening my robe, he gently pushes the fabric off one shoulder. Apparently I’m not supposed to hide myself from him. The robe falls to the ground at my feet. “Miriam messaged your medical files over to me. You’ve received a clean bill of health.”
“So have you.” When I got home, his test results were waiting for me in the mailbox, and I read them over meticulously.
“And birth control?”
“The depo shot,” I answer.
“Good girl.” His finger traces the line of my jaw, then drops to my collarbone. He frowns. “You’re not wearing the necklace.”
Oh, right. He did ask me to wear that, didn’t he? It totally slipped my mind. “You’re early. I was going to put it on before you came.” I smile up at him. “Thank you, by the way. It’s beautiful.”
His eyes narrow as his finger trails along my collarbone. “Where is it?”
“On the dresser.”
He grabs the box off the dresser and takes the necklace out of the little blue sachet it came in. He walks back to me and places the necklace at my throat, his fingers brushing against the back of my neck and sending tingles of arousal as he works the clasp until it’s secured.
“You are to wear this all of the time and never take it off.”
As in…ever? “Why?”
