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I wonder if I'll ever get him to tell me anything personal about himself. I'm not sure if I want to, though, because that might involve me telling him personal things about myself. It's a lot easier to tell him what position I like to fuck in, or that I like chocolate, than it is to tell him about my past. I like to pretend that that is someone who isn't here anymore, who's been buried and dead a long time ago. It's easier that way.
"So, what's my surprise?" I say, doing what I'm best at, deflecting. Plus, I really do love surprises.
"I have your phone," he says, reaching for his back pocket. Only this is not my phone. This isaphone. A phone that looks like it could probably control the command center at Logan International Airport, for crying out loud. "What is that thing?"
It fits in the palm of my hand, so slim it looks like it will disappear, so sleek I want to kiss it. When I touch the screen, it springs to life. I've never seen anything like this before.
"A custom model. It's easy to use, and it's also the easiest way to keep tabs on you."
I cock my head to the side, curious about this latest development. "Keep tabs on me?"
"It's got tracking software installed in it. High-end stuff. The only person who can access it is me. You can use social media, but never from the club. I want to make sure that no one who contacts you poses a threat."
"Fair enough."
“I have access to your phone calls, your emails, your messages. If I had it my way, you would never leave my side. But I can't do that because it's impractical." He runs a hand through his hair. "There are other reasons, too. But you know you never leave the club without my permission, and without a detail on you, right?"
Yeah, I got it. "OK, I can do that.”
"You have your friends here. They've all been vetted, but you don't make new friends unless you run them by me. You don't so much as order a coffee from a coffee shop without talking to me first."
Alright, so this is admittedly getting a little heavy. I'm someone who likes her freedom. I flit about the country like I'm touring it, for crying out loud. But I remind myself this is only for six months.
"Do you see this button here? Press it, and a driver will take you wherever you need to go. It's an armored car. And I want you to clear your slate every single day by four. No plans."
"Why is that?" I ask curiously. I'm trying to keep my tone playful, but the guy’s kinda freaking me out.
"Because that's when you'll have your self-defense lessons."
Ooh, I've always wanted self-defense lessons. "Do I have a teacher?"
His eyes darken. "Me."
"It's a date," I say triumphantly. "I love that. Self-defense. Does that mean you'll have your hands all over my body?"
His dark eyes grow impossibly darker. How does he do that? Leaning in, he brushes his knuckle against my cheekbone. "I can guarantee that."
"It seems you've only come short of actually physically AirTagging me," I say sweetly, while giving him a look like, um, chill the fuck out.
"Only because they wouldn't be here in time," he mutters.
When my jaw drops, he smiles. A rarity with him. "I'm kidding… Sergio wouldn’t let me."
This time, I don't know if he's joking. I take a glance at my new space-age phone. "Is that Candy Crush?"
He shrugs. "I had Marialena put a few things on there. I don't know what you use."
I don't know what I use either.
“We’re going to have our first lesson, but I'm starving. You?"
"Not sure if you noticed, but I'm pretty much always hungry. It takes a lot of energy to be this witty… andgorgeous."
"And you’ll need that energy for what I have planned for you later," he says cryptically. "We'll go out and get some lunch. We need to test the safety protocols I put in place, anyway."
The safety protocols he's put in place. OK, then. Just a regular Tuesday over here folks.
"Got it. I have a question, though."
