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Loathe as I am to let her go, I ease out from under her, grabbing a blanket and draping it over her naked body. It’s drafty in this room, and without my body heat to keep her warm, I don’t want her to catch a chill.
I collect my clothes off the ground and pull them back on, mentally taking inventory of all my fuckups and deciding how best to tweak my plan.
I didn’t bother with a condom and came inside her, so I fucked that part up, but it was well worth it. I had a backup idea in mind to buy me a little time if this got messier than I intended anyway.
I’m not worried about Sophie reporting me now. She’s coming home with me tonight, so I don’t have to worry about what she does when she leaves.
She’s leaving with me.
That feels right.
Too right.
I never want to let her leave my side again.
I want her body curled up against mine every time she falls asleep.
I am gone for this fucking girl.
A fond smile tugs at my lips just looking at her sleeping on the bed.
I need to get it together and get out of here, though. We’ve stayed longer than I intended to, and I don’t know what her mental state will be when she wakes up, but in case it’s bad, I don’t want her driving herself to my house.
I grab the burner phone I brought here tonight and draw out my wallet to make sure I’m remembering the phone number right. I’m not in the habit of memorizing my friends’ numbers—I don’t even know my parents’ numbers by heart—but I didn’t want to program any numbers into this thing, either.
Unfolding the scrap of paper, I tap the flashlight feature on the phone. Once I can see the number, I enter it on my empty messages app and shoot off a text to take the temperature and see if he’s free.
“You around?”
I give it a few seconds, but nothing comes back.
That’s all right. I go over to the closed cabinet in the corner where Professor DeMarco keeps his sex tapes to get what I need.
The tapes are all kept together on a shelf and neatly labeled in bold black Sharpie. He doesn’t label the tapes by the girls’ names but by the general mood of the movie he’s made.
Lust. Anticipation. Desperation. Ambivalence.
This one will be called Reluctance.
I won’t write it myself. Just in case my pretty girl proves disobedient and the police end up involved, I can’t risk being sloppy with the details. My friend has a contact he claims is an expert at forgery, so I grab a couple of blank labels and takepictures of the others so she’ll have all the letters she’ll need to copy and in the correct case.
The phone lights up, and I glance at the display. The text back reads, “Yeah. You need something?”
I type back, “Remember what we talked about earlier? I’m at the house now. Any chance you could meet me for a pickup?”
“Maybe. What exactly am I picking up?”
“Date night with my girl ran long,” I tell him. “I’m gonna take her to my place, but I need someone to drive her car back to her dorm.”
“That’s it? Just a simple delivery? You don’t want me to get rid of it? You don’t need my help carrying anything heavy?”
Is it just me, or is he asking if I killed her?
“No, nothing crazy,” I assure him. “Just need you to drive the car to her place so it’ll be there for her when I take her home.”
Apparently satisfied that she’s still alive, he texts back, “All right. Be there in a few.”
“Thanks.”
