Chapter 18 #3
Approaching room 244, I see the lights are off again, Dallas organizing a stack of small novels on his desk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sophia is at the windows, painting, but I lock eyes with him. The first time I’ve seen him since Friday night.
His wrinkled white shirt outlines the muscles of his broad chest, his tie loose around his neck. Is the hickey I left still there? Above his collarbone?
He doesn’t blink, and I note how his left eye is still bruised.
I hold back the smile of satisfaction. The swelling in my lips has gone down, so he didn’t do nearly as much damage.
I’m sure my friends noticed some lingering bruising, but I didn’t give them a chance to pry.
Nor would they probably. It’s not unusual for sons, daughters, and wives in St. Carmen to cover up some kind of violence happening at home.
I turn to my stepsister. “Sophia?”
She doesn’t face me, of course, painting in long, steady strokes.
“Sophia?” I ask again, politely.
She continues on with her task, and I step up behind her where she’s perched on the windowsill.
“Anna-Katherine?” I say in a soft voice. “We have to go.”
She turns her eyes on me, smiling. “Beautiful, right?”
She gestures to her work, and I give it a once-over.
“It’s lovely,” Milo tells her, joining me at my side. “Maybe I should have you come to my office and paint.”
Yeah, not happening.
She looks back to her work, her smile falling. “This will take me a long time,” she states firmly.
And it doesn’t escape my notice that she can read him like a billboard, no matter how little she may let on.
It also doesn’t escape me that she’s alone in here with Dallas all the time and doesn’t bat an eyelash.
My phone vibrates, and I slide it out of the pocket of my track pants.
Leaving her to paint for another minute, I step away and answer. “Hello?”
“Hi,” the man’s voice says, and my heart skips a beat.
“It’s Micah Hearst.”
I glance at the others as if they can hear. Dallas sets a book on each desk, glancing at me as he moves slowly.
“I know who it is,” I murmur.
Quickly exiting, I head into the hallway. Jerome must’ve passed on my number. I did feel a little guilty about running out on him the other night, but it was quickly forgotten.
“Look, I’m going to be straight with you,” he tells me, “since I don’t have time to waste.”
Turning my head over my shoulder, I watch Milo try to engage Sophia, Dallas continuing with his task.
“I don’t know if you’re interested,” Micah continues. “I feel like I’m getting signals one second and not the other, but I’m definitely interested.”
My stomach falls a little, but in a way that feels kind of good. He’s good-looking, rich, and has a lot to lose, same as me.
And he’s honest. No games, no bullshit baggage.
I swallow, a little scared but also wanting more of something of my own.
“I don’t want love,” he says, “and I don’t want to make demands—just take as many long, hot nights as we want for as long as we want them.”
I can’t help the heat rising up my neck to my face. The smile is there before I can contain it.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he goes on.
Looking back to the classroom again, I see Dallas standing at his desk, watching me. His glare is stern, and I realize I’m still smiling.
And probably a little flushed.
He would never say that to me. He would never say any of this to me.
It doesn’t stop me from imagining it, though. His fingers around my neck, his growl over my mouth. I can’t stop thinking about you.
“You still there?” Micah asks.
I look away, bowing my head and keeping my voice low. “Yeah.”
I hear him draw in a breath. “I’m a good cook,” he tells me, his tone light and hopeful. “And I have an amazing bed…and an incredible shower…and some sensational toys…and a very hungry mouth.”
I bite my lip to stifle the excitement rising in my throat.
“And I really want to go ancient Rome on you tonight,” he taunts.
Goddamn. My cock starts to heat with blood, and I have to shift myself.
Maybe this is just what I need. Why shouldn’t I?
Finally?
He’s mature and not emotionally stunted with anger. I don’t want to be my father, but I’m not a priest, either. I deserve some fun. I deserve someone who wants me.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him. “I can’t go far from my stepsister right now, though. My family’s yacht has a kitchen. And some nice beds.”
“All to ourselves?”
My heart skips a beat. “Yes.”
“Text me the address.”
“Okay,” I breathe out.
I hang up, my pulse racing in my ears.
I don’t know if I would have pursued him, but I know this doesn’t feel like a mistake. It’s time to get lost in feeling good for a few hours with someone who can’t hurt me. At least not yet.
Turning, I stare at Dallas, who still watches me.
No idea what his problem is, but I never do.
And suddenly, I don’t care. Not tonight.
Walking back into the room, I call out to Sophia, “Fiore’s?”
She twists her head, beaming. “Pizza.”
She puts away her paints, and I take her hand, leading her out as Milo walks with us. Dallas’s eyes follow us, but I don’t spare him another glance.