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“Is that what you’d do?”
Only days ago, my answer would have been an unequivocalno. I would have said there were no circumstances that would cause me to leave my baby behind.
I don’t think I can say that now, having been shot at, having jumped off the roof to get away from Grandpapa. What if my mom thought her life was in danger? What if she was choosing between dying in front of me or never seeing me again?
“I would hope I didn’t have to make that choice.”
I’m going to have to make a lot more of them, now that I’ve fled the house. I have no idea what’s next, other than going to Jameson’s cabin. I should probably send a text to Rob at The Membership so he knows I’m not dead, and so he knows they can tell Grandpapa to leave them alone. But then he’d have information about me. What lengths would my grandfather go to get that information?
I don’t want to think about it.
We get off the highway and cruise down roads I recognize. It’s a relief. It shouldn’t be. The part of my brain that divides activities intoappropriateandinappropriateis quieter now than it’s ever been, but it’s still there.
I do my best to ignore it.
Jameson turns down a rough road, and we bump over it until we reach his driveway. He lets out a breath. It’s the first time he’s shown any signs that he was stressed by our getaway drive.
Up by the house, Jameson parks, then gets Snowball’s cage out of the backseat. It’s late afternoon, but summer days like this one last forever. It’s going to be light out for hours, which makes me feel exposed, even surrounded by trees and nature.
The calm expression on Jameson’s face looks shallower by the time we go into the cabin. My headache is worse from all the adrenaline and all the waiting and all the driving around like absolutely nothing’s wrong. My muscles ache. I need todosomething.
If I could, I’d dance.
Jameson takes Snowball’s cage into the kitchen, refreshes his water, and cleans up his seeds. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I end up hovering in the doorway, watching as Snowball pushes his head into Jameson’s fingers.
When the cage is presentable, Jameson washes his hands, then moves past me, into the living area.
“Where are you going?”
He doesn’t answer.
Twothumps say he’s kicked off his shoes. A door opens. I follow after the sound and arrive at the bathroom threshold just as he turns on the shower.
“Jameson.”
His eyes meet mine.
I’ve made a mistake.
He’s not such a criminal mastermind that he has no feelings about this. From the razor-sharp look in his green eyes, he’s hadallthe emotions, and they’re about to burst out of him like a bolt of lightning.
Maybe I should run. Maybe it would be safer.
I step into the bathroom instead.
Jameson pounces.
His hands are all over me in a second. He yanks me in, tips my face up, and kisses me hard, with teeth. Jameson’s careful with me. He doesn’t seem to care at all about my clothes.
I don’t care. Another huge rush of adrenaline speeds through my veins, the headache disappearing under the movement of his body against mine. It’s like we’re both stripping off the day and tossing it into the hamper. I’m not sure what happens first—does he lift me, his broad hands on my ass, or do I climb up like I’m desperate for him?
Iamdesperate for him.
Somehow, he gets us both into the shower without falling. Hot water streams down over us. I bite at his lip. Let his tongue into my mouth. Wrap my legs tight around his waist, so tight that my bare pussy brushes up against his abs. Jameson readjusts me with a grunt and slides me once, twice, over the entire length of his shaft.
This is better.
This is what we should have done this morning.
