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“Why do you keep staring at my desk?” Josie asked several long, hot, sexually frustrating days later, making me snap back to the moment, and shake my head at her.
“I’m not,” I insisted.
I mean, I wasn’t a monster.
I made sure the next morning, nursing a skull-crushing migraine, that I got to the office before Josie to use a couple of bleach wipes on her desk, gather her pens and pencils, spray the couch with disinfectant, and get rid of the trash with the condom in it.
But no amount of cleaning and sanitizing could wipe the memories from my damn brain.
I couldn’t remember what I had for breakfast two days ago, but every sordid little sexy detail of fucking in my office several days before was etched into my memory.
“You okay?” Josie asked, brows pinching. “You’ve been kind of strange for days,” she added, not one to mince words. She knew I didn’t need that from her.
“Yeah. Just a little…” I said, waving a hand at my head. “All over the place,” I decided. “The heat is getting to me,” I added. She didn’t know that the heat I was talking about was the kind between a woman and her very sexy, anonymous biker.
“You’ve lived here your whole life,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.
I hated almost everything about the heat. Always had. I was a Halloweeny, spooky chick who craved a cool breeze and fallen leaves.
Alas, I seemed incapable of leaving Florida.
I guess, in a way, in my line of work, living somewhere that was familiar to me was key. If I needed to make a getaway, I knew all the side streets, or the abandoned buildings I could enter and hide out, even which places I might find people willing to hide me out until the heat burned out, and I could go back to my life.
I’d feel really lost and vulnerable in somewhere more suited to my personality. Like New England. So I was stuck in Miami. At least until retirement. But, honestly, chances were I was a native for now and ever. But I could always aspire to living in New England for the autumn, then heading home before the frigid days of winter set in.
Maybe I could get a second home up there for visits.
But that meant hustling even harder while I could.
And that I needed to get my head off of the hot biker and onto the job.
“You sure you’re alright? I don’t want you taking this job if your head isn’t in the right place,” she added, ever my mother hen. You know, in the best way. Which was… nice. I hadn’t exactly gotten that from my own mom, so having a friend around who gave a shit about me meant a lot.
She was right, though.
That was the problem.
This wasn’t a job where I could be off my game.
This wasn’t an hour in a club.
This was something that required planning and close contact with people who would not like what I was doing if they found out.
And by ‘not like,’ I mean that I would end up sliced in several thick chunks of flesh and fed to some hungry alligators.
No evidence.
No way to get justice.
And, even worse, possibly putting sweet Josie at risk.
It wasn’t an option to go into this job half-cocked.
I had to plan, which I’d been doing for about a day and a half.
But then once the planning was done, I needed to execute it. And I had to be sharp. On my toes. Ready for anything.
I was starting to worry that wasn’t going to be possible for me.
