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Oh! We’re moving!
Only now does my brain come up with all the reasons why this is a horrible idea. For starters, I don’t even know this guy and have just invited him to whisk me away!
This is how those Dateline documentaries start! Keith Morrison’s script will read “Tate could always light up a room” while my bad prom pictures flash across the screen.
What kind of idiot am I?!
But we’re already slipping down a hallway. Thankfully, it’s not completely deserted. There’s a short line of people waiting for the bathroom and a few others admiring a black and white abstract painting. They wouldn’t have noticed us except I make sure they do.
“Great piece!” I say pointedly. That way they remember me for when the police need information on my whereabouts.
I’m being dramatic, and quite frankly, if this is how I have to go—in the arms of Adonis—well then sayonara, cruel world. It was nice knowing you!
The handsome stranger pushes open a door on the right, and rather than stumbling into a bedroom, we find ourselves in a state-of-the-art home gym.
“Does this work?” he asks, dropping my hand to walk inside.
He doesn’t pull me in after him. He lets me hover near the door, watching him for a second, giving me the power to make the decision for myself.
I peer back over my shoulder to see Daphne and Sophia have surreptitiously followed behind us. They’re at the end of the hall, giddy. Sophia claps and gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up and Daphne mimes a blow job, so there’s that.
Trying to play it cool, I flick my hair over my shoulder and step inside, closing the door behind me.
“It’s perfect.”
What in the world have I gotten myself into…
THREE
TATE
I lean back against the door and tentatively watch as the stranger walks deeper into the room. He doesn’t bother to inspect any of the workout equipment. He seems confident in here, like he owns the place. Maybe he does own the place. Maybe Daphne was right; maybe he’s the tech mogul and this is his house. I could ask, but then that would bring us back down to reality. Names, jobs, logistics—it all feels so mundane. I only have a few more minutes of playing this silly game and then it ends and I’m right back to living my simple everyday life.
He sits down on a black padded workout bench, facing me.
I take him in, not bothering to hide my assessment. After all, he’s doing the same to me. His eyes drag down my body like he has every right to check me out now that he’s done me a favor and pulled me into this room.
He’s wearing a cool outfit: black pants and a gray t-shirt with a black jacket layered on top. Add on to that some stylish Nikes, and the overall look is simple but effective. The silver watch on his wrist is a nice touch too.
I hold my breath as I glance back up to his face. There’s an air of familiarity about him that I didn’t catch on to until now. I narrow my gaze, trying to pinpoint where I could have seen him before tonight.
He kicks his legs out in front of him and crosses his ankles, getting comfortable. “You look like you’re really thinking hard…I don’t recommend it.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You just seem slightly familiar now that I’m getting a good look at you.”
“We’ve never met…” he assures me, and it’s as if he wants me to fill in the second part of the sentence for him: or I would have remembered.
A feeling of excitement stirs deep in my belly.
“Maybe not.”
“What’s your name?”
I shake my head.
He cocks his head to the side. “No names? Interesting. Are you a Russian spy or something?”
A laugh bursts out of me.
“Actually…” I arch an eyebrow. “Don’t tell anyone, but I have a gun holstered under this dress.”
I pat my leg for emphasis, and his eyes heat as he stares at where I’m touching my thigh.
“Show me.”
“Nice try.”
He grins, not the least bit bothered that I’ve called him out for trying to get me to lift my dress. We both know there’s no gun there…
“No names, huh? Ages?” he asks.
“Twenty-five. You?”
“Twenty-seven,” he answers. “Your friends—you think they caught us coming back here?”
“I know they did.”
He looks pleased about that, like he’s fully accepted his role as my accomplice now. “How long do you think we need?”
“Five minutes? Ten?”
His eyebrows rise. “Damn, you don’t have much confidence in me. I could go an hour at least.”
“Oh please.”
His eyes alight with something. “My reputation is on the line here.”
“Well lucky for you, I have no idea who you are, so your reputation is safe with me.”
His gaze narrows as if he finds this interesting. Am I supposed to know him? Is that why he looks slightly familiar?
