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“She texted saying that she was with you—my guess because she knew I'd avoid her call otherwise, like the other thousand she's left on my phone over the last month. Obviously I'm gonna call back. I won't have my bullshit problems confront you.
“What'd she say to you, Blaire?”
Letting out a breath, I roll my eyes and then close them, feeling hidden in the darkness of my mind. “She seems to think we're together or something; asked why you'd want me over her. I put her straight but of course she didn't believe me. She's just bunny boiling.” I open my eyes to look at him, to see his reaction as I ask, “How did she know I was here?”
“She must've overheard me talking about you tonight and because you weren't with me, assumed you were here at my house.”
I huff. “Makes sense.”
Twisting at the waist, he leans over me and presses a hand against the mattress at my side. “I don't want that woman, Blaire.”
“What?” I scowl at him. “Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I don't want this to cause a problem between us,” he says, giving me this hard, honest look. “I've no designs on that woman whatsoever, all right?”
My chest squeezes with relief. I don't know why I'm relieved, but I am.
I nod minutely.
“Good.” He winks at me, and then we stare at each other for a while in connecting silence. I'm almost certain he wants to say more but doesn't. Just smiles at me, his eyes glittering with some emotion.
Kiss me...I mentally implore, gripping the sheets in my hands while my stomach clenches in sweet anticipation. I don't know where the abrupt urge has come from but I need him to kiss me.
He doesn't.
After a while of looking at me, he reaches up to touch my face for a split second, making my heart race, and then gets up to leave my room, quietly clicking my door shut.
23
Morning welcomes sunshine in its irony. It's pouring in through the window, making my eyes sting as I blink myself awake.
My throat is sore like it is most mornings but I put the raw sensation down to needing a drink of water.
I get up out of bed and stretch out, moaning because it feels so good as my muscles unwind. Yesterday briefly flashes through my mind, reminding me of that irritating sentiment that I've put down to jealousy, but then I notice a few bags on the chair in the corner of my room. I wander over and rustle through them: shampoo and conditioner, cocoa butter moisturizer and a group of hair ties. I also notice the car key and the laptop are gone. I'm not really bothered about the car key, but I'd like to keep the laptop—I enjoy studying and reading. It helps take my mind off things when I can't meditate.
I search around my room for the laptop, under the bed and under the pillows, but it's definitely gone. Charlie must have taken it when he came back into my room last night with those bags. That's the only plausible explanation.
Giving up on searching, I strip out of my nightclothes and take a shower with my new products, giving my hair a good scrub. I then relish in moisturizing my skin, lathering the cream between both hands before spreading it all over my body. My legs are a bit bristly because I haven't visited a salon in two months.
I pause then, staring blankly at my freckly reflection in the steamed up bathroom mirror.
Two months... It's been two months since Charlie bought me. That means I have four weeks left until I go home.
My heart sinks as I think of this, so I distract myself by getting dressed and going downstairs to find Charlie, leaving my hair down so it can dry naturally.
There's a note in the kitchen by the stove.
Breakfast is in the oven.
X
Smiling to myself about that stupid X/kiss, I take out the plate using a towel and eat scrambled eggs on toast at the kitchen countertop. Charlie wanders in then, dressed in black joggers and trainers, nothing else, his powerful, tanned body contracting in muscles. He's on the phone like he usually is, saying something in Spanish about returning to Mexico soon; that he isn't coming home empty handed.
Our eyes align and he gives me this sly smile—it's sharp and savage because his hair is pulled back.
My stomach fills with this weird fluttering stir and I'm almost sure I'm going to be sick, so I stop eating; put down my fork.
“Yeah, just over a month,” he says, still smiling slyly as he comes up to me.
