Chapter Nineteen
Carter
I tie off the condom and throw it in the trash before using the toilet. Turning the sink on, I hesitate before running my hands under the tepid water. I’m sad to be washing her scent off me. Is it crazy to hope this has changed anything? Or will I emerge to find an empty bed?
In my haste to know the answer, I don’t even finish drying my hands before I open the door, my breath in my throat. I let it out when I see her lying in my bed, a sheet tucked comfortably around her.
Flipping the overhead light off, replacing the harsh light with the softer glow of the bedside lamp, I crawl into bed, lying down on the pillow facing her.
She smiles briefly, but it’s sort of a sad smile. “Carter, this doesn’t change anything.”
Jesus. Did she read my mind?
“Okay,” I say. Not because it’s okay with me—it’s definitely not—but because what the hell else am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to beg her to stay? Purposefully delay her car repairs?
Well…
I internally chastise myself for even thinking about the latter option, while simultaneously internally high-fiving myself for it. I’m not that much of an asshole, but I’m also willing to be if it gives us more time together.
After all, she claims this doesn’t change anything, but she’s still in my bed. That’s got to mean something.
“So if this doesn’t change anything, it won’t matter if we know stuff about each other.”
Her brows lift. “Like what exactly?”
“I saw you in my car today. It looked like you were coming back from White Plains.”
In an instant, her entire demeanor changes. No longer is she basking in post-coital glow. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”
I’m taken aback by her defensiveness. “Tabs? No. I said you could use the car and I meant it. I was on a towing job and was surprised to see you out and about. Sorry if I overstepped by prying. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. Seriously, forget I brought it up.”
Guilt crosses her face and she eases back down onto the pillow.
“No, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “My ex was always grilling me on my whereabouts. I guess what you said just triggered me. Of course you’d mention seeing me in your car.
I’m not trying to hide anything. I went to the bank to make sure I had enough cash to cover the repairs. ”
Triggered her? Alarm bells go off in my head.
There are so many things I want to ask her right now.
But I fear any one of the questions on the tip of my tongue would have her fleeing my bed, and that’s the last thing I want.
But her ex keeping tabs on her is a huge red flag.
Is he still trying to keep tabs on her? My suspicion that he’s the one she’s running from grows even deeper.
Silence surrounds us as I stew in anger. Thankfully, she doesn’t pick up on it. Or maybe she simply assumes I’m still reacting to her brusque assumption.
She tucks an arm under her pillow. “My turn now. Tell me about your tattoos.”
A grin tugs at my lips. “You like my tattoos, huh?”
She shrugs. “I’m not exactly opposed to them.”
“But you don’t have any.” I reach over and brush a stray hair off her forehead. “I definitely would have seen them.”
“Maybe I just haven’t had a chance to get one yet.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t get one in college just to further piss your dad off.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, that would have done it.”
“I got the one on my back right after we bought the shop. My early-to-mid-twenties were tough. I went through some rough times trying to make ends meet as a mechanic when our shop used to be a Goodyear. My mom had recently passed. And I was navigating single fatherhood.”
“What is the significance to you?”
“When I saw the design, it made me think of freedom. Which is exactly what I needed. Freedom that would come when I was no longer working for someone else. Freedom to control my own life and dictate my future. Maybe even freedom for my mom, because although she loved us fiercely, she never found her own happiness.”
“That’s sad about your mom. But honestly, there have been days I thought the very same thing about mine.” She nods to my leg. “And the tattoo on your calf? Can I see it up close?”
I turn and hold my leg out. When she touches the small tattoo, a zinger goes straight to my dick. Down boy.
Having zero clue what her fingers are doing to me, she continues to trace the elements of my ink. “A compass and a green ribbon. What’s CEC?”
“I’m actually pretty proud of this one. I designed it myself. The compass is pointing north. The green ribbon above it represents CP awareness. And the CEC on the ribbon is Christian’s initials. He’s always been my true north, and that’s what this one means to me.”
Her eyes connect with mine and she sighs. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a better father than you.”
I can’t stop the smile that’s taking over my face. “Wow…” I take a second to process her acknowledgment before whispering, “Thanks.”
She giggles softly. “Don’t go getting a big head or anything. I don’t really know that many fathers.”
I laugh, put my leg down, and inch closer. “My turn. Why do you pay for everything with cash?”
Her eyes scan the wall behind me. She’s scrambling to come up with an answer. Or a lie. Or maybe she thinks I’m overstepping again. I immediately regret asking the question.
When she looks like she might get out of bed to avoid answering altogether, I pivot and switch my line of questioning. “Okay, so if this is a one-time thing and you’re leaving soon, and we may never see each other again, tell me, Kenna Bennett, what is the worst thing about you?”
“That’s a strange question. I’m not sure how to answer. Like, what don’t I like about myself? As in, my small butt?”
I reach around and squeeze her delectable ass. “There is nothing wrong with your butt. Believe me. And no, that’s not what I was asking. Let me rephrase. What’s the one thing you don’t want anyone to know about you?”
Her eyes go wide. “Pretty bold for a guy I just met.”
“Like I said, if we’re never going to see each other again, who cares?” When she looks lost in thought again, I add, “Wow… just how many things are there, Kenna?”
“You might be surprised.”
Actually, no, I wouldn’t. I know there are so many things I don’t know about her.
Things she’s hiding from me. Things she might be hiding from the world.
And I know it’s risky business asking her these deep questions, but I’m doing it anyway.
Because there’s an hourglass in my head, and the top half just keeps getting sparser and sparser.
“Okay, I’ll go first. I didn’t cry when my dad died. ”
“I’m so sorry.” And she truly sounds it. “I didn’t realize you’d lost both parents.”
“He died years before my mom.”
“I’m not sure it’s anything to feel bad about. And it definitely can’t be the worst thing about you. Lots of men don’t cry.”
“Oh, I cry, Kenna. Stick around long enough and you’ll see I’m just a stupidly sentimental guy who chokes up at commercials about dads walking their daughters down the aisle or families gathering for holidays.
It’s pretty pathetic really.” I look down and shake my head, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh before focusing on her beautiful face again.
“Is it too late to change my answer? Maybe the worst thing about me is that I cry too much.”
“Nope.” Her head shakes back and forth across the pillow. “You can’t use that one. I love a man who isn’t afraid to show his emotions.”
Her entire body stiffens. Is she replaying the words in her head? Because I sure the hell am.
“I… uh…” She’s flustered and nervous, looking everywhere but at me. Just when I think she’s done talking—done being here—she blurts, “I worked as an escort.”
I blink repeatedly, way too many thoughts going through my head right now.
The first of which is that I wasn’t that far off with the Only Fans theory.
The second of which is that could explain why she has money.
The third—she used past tense, but just how far in her past was it?
Last year? Last week? Jesus, is she on the run from a slimeball client?
She covers her eyes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Tell me.” I inch closer. “Kenna…” I take a deep breath.
“Is someone you were… I mean, um… is one of your clients stalking you? Is that why you seem to be so skittish?” I remove her hands from her eyes and put a finger under her chin, guiding her head until she looks at me.
“Nothing you say will make me think less of you.”
“It’s not as bad as what you’re thinking.”
“Well, good, because I’m thinking all kinds of shit. Not the least being that you’re in danger.”
“I’m not running from a client.”
I’m relieved, yet still skeptical. There was hesitation in her voice. Maybe she’s not running from a client, but she’s running from something.
“I told you my dad didn’t want me to go to college, right?
Well, tuition was expensive. Bills were piling up.
I met a fellow student who worked as a hired escort.
She said it was easy money, and she had zero college debt.
So I gave it a try.” She must see my stunned expression because she quickly adds, “I wasn’t a hooker, Carter.
But this… your expression and how you’re thinking of me right now?
It’s exactly why I don’t tell people. I mean my dad would roll over in his grave and he’s not even dead. ”
I put my hand on top of hers. “I told you, I’m not judging. People do all kinds of crazy shit to get by. Keep going, I want to hear it.”
She pulls her hand out from under mine. I don’t like that she’s done it, but maybe it’s because she’s ashamed.
“I worked for a reputable agency that pretty much just hired out arm candy for men who wanted their egos stroked at public events and stuff. Sex was never on the table. It’s illegal to perform sexual acts as a paid escort, and that was communicated to each and every client.
We worked for appearance-sake only. You’d be surprised at how many times I escorted men to high school reunions.
” Her eyes roll. “To them, it was about who could show up with the prettiest woman.” She sighs. “Not that I’m calling myself pretty.”
“Kenna, you’re more than pretty. You’re breathtaking.”
“Of course you’d say that to the person who just haphazardly jumped into bed with you.”
I laugh puffs of air out my nose. “There was nothing haphazard about it. It was fucking amazing. The best.”
Her head tilts and her nose crinkles. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
She nods, seemingly impressed with herself. “Well, that’s good to know, because it had been a long time since I’ve done it.”
Inside, I’m beaming. I inch even closer, and my chest touches her breasts. “Just how long are we talking?”
“Since before my divorce. So… eighteen months?”
I can’t hold in my triumphant smile.
“Don’t get cocky,” she says. “You and your gravity-challenged towel caught me off guard.”
I go over our entire conversation, tilting my head in mild confusion as the details come together. “Something’s not adding up. You said you didn’t sleep with the clients. But you also said you got pregnant with Amelia your third year in college.”
She looks sheepish again. “Yeah, okay, I did sleep with one client. So technically, I did break the law. But in my defense, I fell in love with him. He was a repeat client I’d gone out with a dozen or so times.
He said he was too busy to date, but had to attend a lot of events, so it was easier that way.
He was classy and charming and treated me unlike any of the others.
Like I really was his date, and not someone hired to play a part.
I just got way too caught up in the facade. ”
“And he’s not in your life at all?”
“Not since the day I told him I was pregnant.”
“But he pays child support, right? Oh, so that’s where you get your money. He was a rich client.”
Her head shakes. “He wasn’t rich. His parents were. A week after I told him and he totally ghosted me, I was contacted by a lawyer who presented me with a fifty-thousand-dollar check and an NDA.”
“Shit, really? They made you sign a non-disclosure agreement?”
“They didn’t make me. But I was informed that since he didn’t have assets in his name, I’d be hard pressed to get much in the way of child support.
Let’s just say they made it clear it would be in my best interest to take the offer.
So, I took the money with the express agreement that I was never to contact him, go after him for child support, or even put his name on Amelia’s birth certificate. ”
“Fifty thousand must have seemed like a lot to a broke college student.”
She scoffs. “If I’d only known then how expensive having a baby would be without insurance.”
I raise a brow. “You weren’t on your dad’s?”
“He worked for a smaller church at the time. They weren’t required to offer it to him. Not that I told him I was pregnant. He didn’t know about Amelia until she was born and I called him from the hospital.”
“Wow.” The things she’s been through in her twenty-four years have me truly astounded. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”
She shrugs. “I had a few friends from school who showed up for me from time to time. But they were still students and I wasn’t, so we grew apart.”
“So the money didn’t last long. What did you do?”
“When Amelia was six months old, it ran out. I started doing odd jobs to get by. Nothing glamorous. I walked dogs. Babysat neighbors’ kids.
Basically anything I could do from home while caring for Amelia.
When she was two, I got her enrolled in a subsidized daycare and could finally get a real job.
I found one as a receptionist at a law firm. ”
“Sounds like a good gig.”
“Or so I thought.” She draws away. “It’s where I met my ex.”
“Dang. You really haven’t had the best luck with the men in your life, have you?”
“Ha! That’s an understatement.”
“Will you tell me about him? Your ex?”
Her eyes become distant. I’ve most certainly crossed the line now.
She confirms it when she sits up at the edge of the bed. “I’d better get going. Amelia sometimes wakes up a few hours after she goes down.”
Defeat worms through me as I watch her get up and dress. When she reaches the door without uttering a single word, I call after her. “Kenna?”
She turns. “Hmm?”
“It doesn’t have to be just a one-time thing, you know.” I hold out my arms. “I’m here all week.”
Her momentary smile turns into an impassive stare that splinters my fucking heart. Because if expressions could talk, hers just told me she has no plans of repeating what was the best damn hour of my life.
Then she’s gone. And I spend the entire night staring at my ceiling wondering if I’ll ever be the same again.