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The idea of slipping away from him and running to Parker fills my head. But I immediately dismiss it when I remember Parker telling me about her and Danny’s nightly playtime. As much as I want to run from Anders, I don’t want to ruin Parker’s night.

I can stay with Anders for tonight. I’ve stayed in dozens of strangers’ homes. I can do it tonight, and then tomorrow I’ll tell him to stay away from me. I’ll tell him I’m not interested, or straight or married or something. Tomorrow, I’ll make him leave me alone. But for tonight, I’ll treat this like I have every other night where I was forced from familiarity and dragged into the unknown at someone else’s whim. Because this is just one more thing that’s happening to me that I have no control over.

“We’re here,” Anders says, turning off the road and down a gravel path that passes under a sign that says “Williams Ranch.” When the road splits, we fork off to the left, and soon a circle of houses comes into view.

I recognize Parker’s car the moment I see it, and when Anders pulls into the driveway of the house beside it, I feel my erratic heartbeat slow a little at the knowledge that she really is only in the house next door.

The door doesn’t open when I pull the handle, and I turn to look at Anders, only to find him out of the car and closing his door behind him. Tugging at the handle, I pull it again and again, but it doesn’t budge until Anders opens it from the outside.

“It wouldn’t open,” I gasp.

“I wanted to open it for you,” he says, like it’s the most normal response in the world.

Blinking, I stare up at him with confused outrage. I don’t know if him locking the door so he could open it for me is sweet, messed up, or a mixture of the two.

Before I have a chance to decide if he’s romantic or psychotic, he leans into the car, close enough that his lips would be touching mine if he turned his face. But he doesn’t turn, instead, he unfastens my seat belt, then lifts the blanket from my lap, taking the untouched protein bar and soda from me as he pulls back and offers me his hand.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound assertive.

“Hand, Boy.”

My skin prickles invigoratingly at the rumbling tone of his words. Him calling me Boy should be an insult, but it almost felt like a caress. I know that I carry the damage of a childhood spent in the foster system, but for the most part I usually feel pretty normal. But not now. Right now, in this second, I feel every single thread of normality that I’ve been clinging to start to fray at the edges, and it’s all because of that one word.

Boy.

Am I just so screwed up that three letters that I’ve heard a million times before can completely unravel me? He told me ten minutes ago I was his, then he called me Boy, something that, when used by a full-grown man to another man, can surely only be derogatory. But I don’t feel offended. I feel turned on.

I’m so confused, but I place my hand in his and let him help me out, because the sooner tonight is over, the sooner I can stop this…whatever it is.

He releases me the moment I’m out of the car, placing his palm on the base of my spine, right on the dimple above my ass. It’s not somewhere I’d have considered an erogenous zone, but the heat of his hand resting there makes my dick twitch, and my balls feel full and heavy.

Turning to look toward Parker and Danny’s house, I silently beg for them to open the door, to come outside and see me and ask what I’m doing here. But their door remains closed, and I can’t find my voice to shout out for help.

As if he can hear my inner thoughts, Anders quickly steers me toward the front door, opening it and guiding me inside as quickly as he can without picking me up and carrying me.

Once we’re inside, he flips a switch and turns on the light, bathing the room in a warm white glow. I’ve been in a lot of homes. I’ve stayed with dirt-poor families who took in foster kids purely for the paycheck. I’ve stayed with crazy families, rich families, evil families. I’ve stayed in group homes, hostels, homeless shelters, and my shitty apartment. But never. Not once have I ever walked into a room and felt like I’ve come home. But that’s exactly what it feels like as my eyes take in the warm, welcoming space.

“This is the living room, kitchen is over there, then upstairs there are three bedrooms. The master has its own bathroom, but there’s a family bathroom up there too. Go pick a bedroom.”

“I’m not going to sleep, so I’ll stay on the couch,” I admit, then immediately wish I could swallow the words back down.

“Why wouldn’t you sleep?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I don’t know you, and I never sleep anywhere on the first night in a strange place,” I admit, once again willing myself to shut the hell up.

“Have you stayed in a lot of strange places?” he asks, his voice softening, his tone lowering to a soothing purr as he takes a step closer to me.

“Yes,” I say, pointedly stepping back.

“Are you scared?” he asks.

“I think I’d be crazy not to be. But then this is my first kidnapping.” I tried to sound calm, but I can hear the tremor in my own voice.

“You still have your cell. I won’t stop you from calling the cops if you genuinely think you’re in danger. While you call, I’ll make dinner. Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then get hungry,” he says, all traces of softness dissolving as he straightened to his full, intimidating height.