Chapter 26 Scarlett
TWENTY-SIX
SCARLETT
Texting Nico is easier than I anticipated.
What I didn’t anticipate was how often the urge to text him would hit.
For the past week, we’ve been texting about the most random things. Our favorite movies, biggest pet peeves, which celebrities we’d invite to a dinner party. He asks me questions I’ve never even thought about.
I love it.
I find myself jumping for my phone when it vibrates. I love getting to know these pieces of Nico, and I love that he cares enough to learn them about me. I answer every question he asks, the need to connect with him now too great to hold back.
He keeps the conversations surface level, though. He even stays away from asking me if I’ve made a decision about coming to his fight. I think he senses that while me giving him my number—and full name—is a big deal, I’m not quite ready to divulge all of my secrets. Yet.
I’ll give him the rest of me for now.
The day before Nico’s fight, I wake up more restless than normal. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen him, and I think it’s affecting me. Without a scheduled date with him on my calendar, I’m lost in my own life. And the emptiness is wearing on me.
It’s early, too early, so I jump into a five-mile run on the treadmill. Soon, that restlessness I’m feeling turns five miles into eight. By the time the runner’s high dies down, I’m drenched in sweat and starving.
I eat more than I usually would. With Nico’s nutrition advice ringing in my brain, I go to a nearby diner to order a breakfast sandwich instead of making my usual eggs and black coffee. And on the walk home, I stop for a parfait at my favorite coffee house.
Whether it’s the restlessness or the added calories, by the time I get home, I’m itching with the need to do something. I have six hours before my client appointment tonight.
An hour later, I’m back at the shelter where Nico and I volunteered.
“Hi there,” says the front desk lady with a big smile. “How can I help you today?”
“Uh, I’m not really sure,” I answer nervously. “I volunteered a few weeks ago and really enjoyed the experience, so I guess I’m back to see if I can help again.”
She beams at me. “Well, we love to hear that. I can share your options with you, if you’d like.” When I nod, she starts to list them off.
“It all comes down to your time commitment and experience level, really. You can either apply to be a foster parent—”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I interrupt with a wince.
“That’s quite alright, dear, plenty of people start with simpler options.
You could take on more of an admin role, helping during our events or assisting foster parents with calling references and vets and things.
Or you could apply to transport animals, or take them out for a day to get out of the shelter, or you could even just play with them out back—”
“That. That I can do.”
When she gives me an amused smile at the outburst, I blush. “Sorry, I just don’t have that much experience with dogs. I wouldn’t trust myself to take them out of here.”
“Perfectly understandable. And any little bit of help is monumental for the dogs, so we’ll take anything you want to give us. Do you have some time now? I can take you in the back to pick out an afternoon play buddy.”
I deflate in relief. “That’d be great, thank you.”
When we walk through the kennels, it’s a small pitbull that catches my eye. He looks so sad and so harmless that I feel comfortable taking him out back to the fenced in area by myself.
The front desk lady hands me a tennis ball and says, “He might not do much with it, but here you go. Have fun!”
She’s not wrong. When I throw the ball, he stares after it for a moment, then gives me a side-eye and sits onto his haunches.
Huffing a laugh, I try with the tug of war rope. He doesn’t bite into it.
But when I finally sigh and take a seat beside him in defeat, he promptly climbs into my lap with a tired exhale that only dogs are capable of.
I smile and scratch behind his ears. “Oh yeah? That’s all you wanted?” When he curls into a ball, he’s positioned so his cheek is on my thigh, gazing up at me with his tongue lolling out and a happy smile on his face.
“Well, aren’t you the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” I murmur, stroking his head.
For minutes, we just sit there, me petting him and him staring up at me with the sweetest lovesick puppy eyes I’ve ever seen. Eventually, his eyes close when he falls asleep, but that smile stays on his face.
I keep petting him. Even when my back cramps and my legs start to itch from the fake grass, I can’t look away from him.
He wanted nothing from me. Nothing but love and attention.
If only life was that easy.
I was raised to believe a woman’s value is in what she can offer a man. That I was only lovable—if love was even real—if I was worth loving. If I was attractive, if I lessened my man’s stress, and if I provided in the way women were meant to provide. Only then would I be worth loving.
But this dog…even with this being our first meeting, he loves me already. For no reason. Nothing I gave him, nothing I did for him. He just met me with love.
I wish it wasn’t just dogs.
Nico’s face flashes before me.
Beyond those first few dates when he hired me for company, I don’t think he’s wanted anything from me.
He’s been trying so hard to get to know me, to make me comfortable enough to open up to him, and he’s asked for nothing in return.
He even took sex and intimacy off the table so I couldn’t “pay” him in the way I’ve always understood my worth.
He's wanted nothing from me but me.
He’s the only one I’ve ever felt that with.
My thoughts are interrupted by the front desk lady appearing before me. “You two seem cozy,” she says.
“Oh, uh, yeah, he fell asleep pretty much instantly. I feel bad, I didn’t really do anything for him.”
She gives me a warm smile.
“Oh, honey. You gave him a safe space. You did everything for him.”
I get ready for my date tonight on autopilot.
I see Mr. Clarke every six weeks like clockwork. I show up in his favorite red dress, we chat until something I say makes his dick hard, and then I pull the top of my dress down and he jerks off on my breasts. He never touches me. He just has a thing for degrading women with his semen.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience when I knock on his hotel room door. I haven’t felt in control of my actions since I started getting ready. It feels like my brain is trying to separate from my body.
“Daisy, it’s so nice to see you,” he says when he opens the door.
He’s a nice enough man, I guess. I manage to return a smile.
“Hi, Mr. Clarke. How have you been? I’ve missed you.”
Autopilot. Everything is on autopilot.
I listen to him yap about his job for twenty minutes. I think he’s an executive at some technology company, I don’t know. I’ve never been able to care that much. They don’t want me to listen, anyway; they just want to talk.
Nico wants to listen.
By the time Mr. Clarke unzips himself, I can only stare at his dick, suddenly clueless about how I ever didn’t run screaming from the sight of it.
“On your knees, Daisy,” he says in a rough voice.
My eyes dart to his and widen.
“I can’t,” I breathe.
His movements pause. “What?”
I swallow thickly, even as my certainty solidifies. “I can’t do this,” I say, stronger this time.
To his credit, he looks concerned. “Are you…alright?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “No, I’m not. I am so far from alright.”
His expression shifts to confusion, but I don’t have time to explain. Grabbing my purse, I spin toward the exit. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll have the agency call you.”
The door has barely shut behind me when I’m pulling out my phone.
“Amara? We need to talk.”