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The bird cocks his head at Jameson andtweet-tweet-tweets.
Jameson rolls his eyes. “That’s sexist.”
I laugh and choke on my oatmeal, coughing until my airway is clear. Jameson’s several feet closer by the time I’m done. “You’re calling thebirdsexist? You kidnapped me.”
“Isn’t it more sexist to assume that girls are too delicate to be kidnapped?”
“I can’t have this argument with you right now. I’m eating oatmeal.”
It’s peaceful being at the table, eating oatmeal out of a pretty bowl.
Itstayspeaceful until Jameson puts my dishes in the sink, stands next to my chair, and holds out his hands.
I watch it happen.
The calm, distracted expression disappears. His pupils expand, blocking out more of the green. Jameson’s smile is cutting enough to draw blood.
There’s no playful dare in his face now. Maybe I imagined it last night. My heart beats faster. It’s a clear warning that now’s not the time to challenge him.
I hand over the blankets.
My nakedness is humiliating now. I could’ve been too shocked to notice how embarrassed I was when he brought me here, but fresh, intense heat spreads down from my cheeks to my chest.
Jameson tucks the blankets under his arm and leaves the kitchen.
It’s obvious I should follow, so I do.
He puts the blankets on a credenza behind the couch, then looks back for me. “Come on. You know the drill.”
I give a shaky, half-hearted laugh. “Don’t you want a change of scenery?”
“I’m not bored.” He gestures toward the window seat.
It seems smaller after the kitchen table. Closed in by all the glass. A cage that keeps me from my life. Everything is moving on without me, starting today. I can’t study. I can’t get ready for the summer program. I won’t get ahead for law school. I certainly can’t turn into a winged creature of the night and fly away.
I’d run straight into the glass.
That isdefeatistthinking, and I won’t entertain it.
I pick up my head, straighten my back, and go to the window seat.
It’s not empty.
There’s a vibrator on the cushion. A long, black vibrator.
I will it to disappear.
It doesn’t.
There’s a weird hitch in my chest. I open my mouth to cough and burst into tears instead.
Thisis embarrassing. This makes me want to curl into a ball on the floor. Not being naked, not being kidnapped—crying in front of him in a way I didn’t schedule. Normally, I’d find a private time for this. One that didn’t conflict with my studying. I wasn’t going to cryat all.I was going to get through this first. What, now I’m a person who loses her mind over one night of lost sleep and some orgasms?
Seems like the answer’s yes.
I swipe at my eyes until the crying tapers to a dull ache in my chest. It doesn’tstop, though.
“Why are you crying?” Jameson asks from behind me. I can see a vague outline of him in the window, but the clouds hide most of our reflection. That’s a plus. I don’t want to see myself like this.
