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I lean forward and gently place my hand on his, helping him to loosen his grip on the cane. “I was asking if it’s okay if I take your plate. I’m going to do some washing up.”
“Oh…” He turns, looking at the plate like he’s never seen it before. “Assuredly.”
I take the plate and leave the room, knowing I’ll have to make this decision by myself. Eli thinks whatever I decide is the right choice. Mom says I should be careful, but what do I want?
Oh, that’s simple—a big house full of laughter and love. The knowledge that my man is my man, with a ring on my finger to prove it, and never having to worry about anybody hurting us ever again. That’s not asking too much, is it?
CHAPTER 11
Katy
“Should I make some more sandwiches?” I call across the divider into the living room. “Is anybody else hungry?”
My skin is tingling all over. The red light of the camera watches me as if the redder it gets, the more excited Sam is. He wouldn’t have mentioned my jeans if he didn’t like how they looked on me. He likes the look of me.
I imagine the man in the photo, those sharp eyes, that silver hair, wanting me. But what if he isn’t the man in the picture?
Is something wrong? he sends later while I’m slicing some bread. He’s left me hanging for way too long. I wonder what he’s been doing.
I wish I could be sure you are the man from the photo, I reply.
Why?
Because… I leave the message hanging, focusing hard on not biting my lip. If we’re going to have that jeans talk, I’d like to know you’re really you.
I knew you were shaking your hips on purpose.
Another smile strikes me like lightning, making my cheeks feel warm.
I don’t want to shake them for just anyone, I reply.
Good. I don’t want that either. Okay, Katy. What about this?
A minute later, he sends me a photo. He’s sitting outside with trees in the background, holding today’s newspaper, showing the date in the corner.
Either you’re quick as hell with Photoshop, or that’s really you, I reply.
You’re very suspicious.
Can you blame me? I reply quickly.
What about this, then, eh? he sends a second later.
What about what? I reply.
Give it a second, Miss Impatient. I’m sending a video.
“How does the voyage of the sandwiches fare, my lady?” Eli calls over.
“I’m almost done,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. A video… My mind immediately goes to steamy places.
I’m buttering the bread when the video appears. When I click play, I immediately wish I could reach through the video. He smirks. “Is this good enough for you, Katy Jones?” His voice is husky, deep, and intense.
The camera stays on his face for a moment. A dog barks in the background. I imagine myself there with him, wherever he is, sitting at his side, my hand in his. There’s a stroller next to us.
Okay, you’ve proven your point, I send.
Good. That means you can go back to shaking that ass.
How did we get here? It feels natural and dangerous at the same time. Every inch of me tingles when I read his words, knowing he wants to see me in a sexual way—not the rest, obviously, the stroller dreams. Even so, it’s something.
I was so not shaking my ass, Sam.
Then maybe that’s just how you naturally walk. Either way, I’m not complaining.
I can’t stop smiling. Luckily, Eli is absorbed with cleaning his cane, and Mom stares at the large windows overlooking the city. I place their sandwiches down, then sit on the couch, tucking my legs up. Sure, maybe I angle them at the camera, wondering—hoping—if I’m being somewhat seductive. Is it my plan to seduce this guardian angel?
Do you do this a lot? I type. Put women up in safe houses and have fun on camera with them?
What if I said I did? he replies. What would you say if I said I do this often, and you’re one of many?
A smart woman would tell him what he wants to hear. Crazily, I think I might cry. I don’t want to think about him with anybody else. It feels so gross.
I’d say we should probably just stay on friendly terms.
I send it before my chicken instincts kick in, telling me to lie, but he has to know. Maybe we’ll have to let this romance die before it can begin.
It’s good I’ve never done this before, then. I’ve put people up in safe houses, but I’ve never talked to or texted with anybody like we’re talking.
I put my phone on the arm of the chair, making sure the screen is locked. I’ve trained my mind to be suspicious of everything. It’s part of being a junkie’s daughter. Wow, what a horrible way to think, but that’s what sometimes flows up in my thoughts—addict, junkie. Mom shivers as if hearing my thoughts.
