AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I knew Lizzie.
I lived with her for four years.
And I know beyond a doubt that someone has cleaned her room. Lizzie lived like a teenage girl before her first date—frantically. Messily. As if she had tried on every item of clothing she owned and discarded it on the floor before finding the right thing to wear.
But why? Why would any of the girls come in here? And why would they tidy things up? It makes no sense. Toni specifically told us not to touch anything.
Unless itwasToni.
It had to be her. Of course. Strangely, the thought calms me instantly. If Toni came in here, she had to have a good reason. Either to protect us or protect Lizzie, maybe? God knows Lizzie probably had any number of condemning substances and paraphernalia in here.
Clementine Lane is drug free, or, at least,supposedto be. Toni made it one of our only three house rules when I moved in. Although Lizzie never cared about the rules, she did make a concerted effort to keep her life contained in her bedroom. She never used in front of me and, even when I could tell she was high, she’d spend the least amount of time possible near me before disappearing to her room.
You learn things when you’ve been an addict for a certain amount of time, and, while Toni’s gesture was nice, if I had wanted to get a fix, I could source within three blocks of here and be dead by morning. The hardest part has never been knowing that the drugs were there, so close, sitting openly in Lizzie’s bedroom. The hardest part was accepting that Elizabeth knew I was an addict and kept them there anyway.
I’m standing at the window, watching the slow trickle of traffic through the quiet neighborhood. My thoughts are a jumbled mess. My stomach, usually so settled, gurgles with anxiety.
A blackFord Rangerpulls up to the curb below and stops. Lieutenant Aiden Flint alights from the vehicle. He’s wearing plain clothes again, this time dark blue jeans, a very light blue or white button-down shirt, and brown work boots.
Unaware of my observation, he rakes a hand through his shaggy hair and, pulling out a cigarette, surveys the neighborhood. He takes in everything as he turns a slow three-sixty. When he’s facing the house again, he fishes a lighter from his pocket and, with one casual flick, lights the smoke.
Leaning against the window frame, my arms crossed, I watch him for a long moment. He looks tired in the way of career professionals who work long, irregular hours. Cops. Nurses. Air hostesses. He’s neat and put together, but the fatigue is there when you stop and get a good look. I’d bet money he doesn’t even realize it anymore.
If he were a client of mine, I’d start by taking off his shoes and nudging him back into an oversized chair. I’d straddle him, maybe let his hands wander while I mussed him up a bit—loosened those buttons at his throat, took off his belt, and untucked his shirt.
I’d undress him slowly, prolonging gratification for both of us, driving the want and need with each small inch of skin exposed. He's a man I’d take my time with, setting the pace as slow and languid rather than frantic and urgent.
I wonder what he likes. He has the look of a sensitive man, one who derives pleasure from his partner’s unraveling as much as his own. I can imagine him watching me, gauging my reaction, learning and adjusting as we go.
The thought of him watching me ignites a flicker, just the faintest burn of desire low in the pit of my stomach.
Those big palms would know where to touch, I think, as I watch him straighten himself out before making for the house. His stride is big and smooth, his body moving gracefully despite his height.
The peal of the doorbell scatters my thoughts into fragments. My body reels and Ifeelmore than hear him as he comes up the stairs, the space between us shortening. It’s like I am prey, hiding in the dark from an ignorant predator, as aware of him as he is not of me.
The bedroom door is open.
There is no knock.
But I know the moment that Aiden Flint is standing on the threshold. My skin pulls tight, sending the fine hairs on my arms into a full salute. “Mani. Sade.” His deep voice travels through the room.
“Lieutenant,” Sade replies, before going back to her task at Elizabeth’s bedside drawer.
Hating the awkwardness that suddenly overcomes me, I tear my eyes from the window and glance over at him, trying my best to insert casual indifference into my demeanor.
“Catherine,” he nods.
“Lieutenant Flint,” I return his greeting coolly despite the warm flush spreading through me by aching degrees.
Mani whispers something to him that has Aiden’s eyes narrowing in focus. “Howmuch?”
“Two-hundred k.”
“Okay.” Seeing that I’m watching the exchange, Aiden raises his hands to his hips and angles his face down, lowering his voice. “We’ll talk later.”
Mani glances in my direction but with a few quick words of acquiescence, turns away.
When Aiden starts across the room to me, my pulse jumps and skitters, and unfamiliar with the sudden bout of nerves, I watch him, my face deliberately painted with thinly veiled interest. In my mind, it’s only fair if we’re both uncomfortable. But he doesn’t cower or blush or even mumble. He meets my look with a kind smile and patient understanding. “Catherine,” he greets me again.
