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It’s him. He’s here.
Why am I so nervous?
I inhale a deep breath and set the ring back down, staring at it a moment longer before deciding not to put it on tonight. Then I pull a sweater over my head and hurry to answer the door.
“I just need to grab some shoes,” I tell Callisto as I scramble down the hall to my bedroom.
He’s so large, so commanding, dressed in charcoal gray pants with a navy-blue dress shirt, seeming entirely out of place in my cozy, little house. I have school books scattered across my dining table. My favorite pillow and fuzzy blanket are still on the sofa where I spent last night watching television until I fell asleep. I didn’t have time to put the empty wine glass in the dishwasher, and my scrubs are thrown on my bedroom floor along with my underwear. I suddenly wish I had made him wait outside until I cleaned up. Not that it’s messy by most people’s standards, but I’ve seen Callisto’s office. If that’s any reflection of his idea of cleanliness, he’s probably cringing inside right now.
I walk out of my closet, after slipping the brown leather flat onto my foot, and spot him standing next to my bed. His presence startles me, and I yelp.
He’s holding the picture of me and Reid that I keep on my nightstand.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says as he carefully places the picture back where it came from.
“It’s okay. You were just… really quiet. That’s all.”
He walks toward the end of the bed where I’m standing. “Lift your hands over your head.” His voice is crisp and commanding and his eyes serious.
Without hesitation, I raise both arms up over my head and hold them there while I wait for him to approach me. I have no idea what he’s going to do, but if it involves him touching me, then I’m not going to argue. He takes the bottom hem of my light pink sweater and lifts it all the way to my bra. His eyes study my tattoo for a moment before moving up and locking gazes with mine.
Oh. That’s what this is about. The picture. Our tattoos.
“The ‘S’ and ‘T’, they were added later?” he says, more of an observation than a question but I answer anyway.
“Yes.”
“What happens when someone finds you?”
This is not my ideal way to begin our evening, but his flawless features and polished voice make him impossible to ignore.
“Then I guess the word will mean something else.”
Like now. When I am lost in his eyes.
He lowers my sweater and takes a step back. “We should go before it gets late.”
“Where are you taking me?”
By the looks of him, I feel slightly underdressed, and I’m wondering if I need to change.
“My place. You look beautiful, Makenna,” he says while he walks out of the room.
How the hell did he know what I was thinking?
