Chapter 9 Seth
SETH
I’m humming a tune a few hours later when I push open the door of my apartment. Felix rubs against my legs, then looks at me oddly, probably wondering why I’m so goddamn happy all of a sudden.
Feeling like sharing the love, I scoop him into my arms and swing around the room. Felix sets his ears back in alarm, and I loosen my grip so he can jump to the floor.
He gives me an admonishing look and retreats under one of my desks, where he sits on his paws with his fur puffed out, looking unimpressed.
“It’s okay, buddy. I’m in a good mood is all.”
I sink into an office chair and bring up everything I have on Kayla.
It doesn’t take long to disconnect from her smart TV and her laptop.
I no longer feel good about watching her the way I have been. In fact, I feel like complete shit. Her father employed me to make sure she was safe, not spy on her.
I bring up the connection to her phone and am about to disconnect that, too, when I hear her talking.
The number tells me she’s speaking to her friend Sienna who lives in Portland.
“How’s the cafe going?” Sienna asks.
“It’s gooood,” Kayla responds.
It’s a private conversation. I should cut my connection and leave them to it. But there’s something in Kayla’s tone that makes me pause.
Sienna catches it too, the way Kayla draws out the ooo’s in good.
“Ohhhh!” she squeals excitedly. “You’ve met someone!”
My heart rate jumps up a notch, wondering how much she’ll tell her friend about me. I shouldn’t listen, but I’m too curious to hang up.
Kayla giggles. “Noooo.”
“Oh, come on. Spill.”
“It’s just a guy who I’ve seen a few times. Nothing’s happened yet.”
So she’s not telling her friend about the kiss. In fact, she sounds pretty casual about it all. Maybe the kiss didn’t mean anything to her. Maybe she doesn’t feel anything for me.
“Is he hot?”
“Sienna!” Kayla sounds exasperated, but there’s a lightness to her voice at her friend’s gentle ribbing.
“Tell me, tell me. Is he hard, strong, and bold? That’s what we always said we wanted in a man.”
My breath catches. My hand goes to my damaged leg. It sticks out from the chair at an odd angle, reminding me that I’m not whole, and I’m not strong.
I hold my breath, waiting for Kayla to say something about how smart I am, how clever and funny, and that being strong isn’t important.
But she doesn’t.
Kayla laughs. “Hard, strong, and bold,” she says it like it’s some kind of chant.
“Hard, strong, and bold,” they say together, and I get this must be some childhood thing they did probably as girls.
They both shriek with laughter, and that’s the point at which I disconnect.
If that’s what Kayla wants in a man, then that’s not me. I’m damaged goods. What can I offer a woman like her?