Sawyer
Idon’t know how long it takes me to get myself together, but Zelda doesn’t speak, doesn’t coax me, doesn’t do anything but run a clean washcloth over me, then gently turns me away from the water so she can shampoo her hair and wash up.
When she turns the water off and steps out of the shower, I finally snap out of it, and she’s back an instant later, a fluffy, clean towel in her hands.
“Here.”
She wraps her own towel around her body, working the fabric over her skin, and I draw it roughly over my hair, around the back of my neck, drying myself with sharp movements. “I’m sorry.”
Zelda looks up at me with her huge green eyes, and there’s no pity there, only a sincerity that takes my breath away. “You don’t ever have to be sorry.”
I laugh, and the sound is bitter and short. “I have a lot to be sorry for.”
“Well.” She wraps the towel around her body, tucking an edge in above her breasts to keep it in place. “Being upset about your dad isn’t one of them.”
Then she turns on her heel and steps over to the counter and bends, sliding some of the drawers open and taking out a circular brush and a hair dryer.
She sets them both on the counter and starts what looks like a familiar routine—lotion over most of her body, the same in a thin layer over the skin of her face, and I stop her when she starts to lift the brush and hair dryer to her hair.
I lift her hair from the back of her neck, thick and damp in my hand, and kiss her there in that hidden spot.
“I’m not a fragile man.”
She smiles at me in the mirror. “I would never think that.”
Something in the deepest part of me relaxes, and I plant one more kiss on her cheek, hang the towel on the hook by the shower, and move past her, back into the apartment.
Zelda doesn't linger long and appears a few minutes later with her hair gently swept back in a ponytail. I’m pulling my shirt over my head and watching the sway of her hips as she walks across the room, a satisfied smile on her face as she goes.
At the dresser, she chooses panties and a bra, and puts them on. I want my hands all over her again. I want to lose myself in her again. And I never, never want to be found.
“You’re getting dressed.”
She gasps a little, like she’s surprised to find herself with clothes on, and it makes me laugh, my chest feeling slightly lighter. “Don’t you want to go out?”
“Go out, or stay in.”
I cross to her and put my palm against the smooth skin of her neck, stroking it down until my fingers meet her bra strap. She closes her eyes when I start to slide it off her shoulder, and she shivers when I kiss right on the line where the bra strap used to be.
“If you keep this up…” Her voice is low and breathy. “This is going to be the rest of the day.”
I lean toward her and drop my voice. “What the hell would be wrong with that?”
She leans into me, giving in, and my cock is harder than steel.
Right up until my phone buzzes in my pocket.
With a growl of frustration I step back, Zelda’s worried eyes on my face, and wrench it out of my pocket.
It’s Domino.
“I’m busy.” I snap the words into my phone, forgetting myself, drunk on her.
Domino lets the silence hang for three heartbeats, long enough to tell me he’s not happy.
“Is that so?”
It’s a deadly question, and he and I both know it. I step farther away from Zelda, like keeping the phone away from her can protect her from the scumbag life I lead. The apology tastes bitter in my mouth. “I’m sorry, D. Things here are stressful.”
He moves on, voice clipped. “That’s too bad. There’s an individual I need you to take care of. Sometime in the next couple of hours.”
“Where at?”
He names an address that’s so far away he might as well pay the house call himself.
It’s literally around the block from his main place, and any one of his people could go there.
The guy who lives there is a pushover, and it hits me all at once that this is the kind of bullshit he’s going to put me through to teach me a lesson about taking time off, for daring to be this far away from him.
Irritation surges in my chest, and I turn back toward Zelda. She’s putting her bra strap back in place, and when she catches my gaze, she looks down and turns back toward the dresser. She’s got herself dressed in yoga pants and a top in what seems like an instant.
Well, fuck. Going back to bed looks like it’s off the table, and her mouth is pressed into a thin, serious line, searching my face for any sign of what’s happening in this phone call. I must not look very pleased. I must look irate. I try to force a smile onto my face, but her frown only deepens.
I don’t want to see her frowning. I don’t want to be in this position.
That’s when I say it.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, Domino. I’m not available.” My jaw tightens, teeth coming together with a click. I’m already at the very edge of the precipice and I’m going over. “I’m done.”
Domino’s tone is suddenly conversational. “Tell me more about this, Sawyer.”
I’ve heard him say this to other people before, in worse situations, and it never goes well. The talking always turns violent. The explanations never do anything.
They weren’t worse. They were the exact situation I’m in now, that I’m putting myself in with every word that comes out of my mouth.
But I’m not going to back down now. I’m sick of backing down. I’m sick of being a younger version of my father. My stomach roils at the thought, turns and twists. That’s what I’m doing, working for Domino, even if I’ve never let myself see it before. It’s not only my family I’m beating up.
“There’s nothing else to say. I’m done. I’m not coming back. Don’t call me again.”
Then, with so much force the phone almost snaps in my grip, I end the call.