Page 73

“Do you need a ride home?”
“Oh, no. I, ah, I told Douglas to wait.”
“Sure you did.”
I don’t look when I hear my closet door open, or the rustling when she puts her jacket on, or when my apartment door opensand closes. She can run downstairs to Douglas, run home to her safe place. Date men Zane chooses, double date, I guess, with him and Stella, like the night at the gallery. Eventually she’ll marry someone steady and solid. Maybe she won’t feel squishy inside, but she’ll never have to be afraid of him hitting her, getting angry over something she’s done.
Me, I have a temper. I’ve never hidden it. Would die a million times before I ever did anything to her, but she doesn’t know that.
Won’t get to know it, either. Zane made sure. The son of a bitch got his way after all.
I pull the pan out of the oven, fasten the cover on it, and put it in the fridge. My appetite vanished when Zarah walked out, and I’ll give it to Pop and he can bring it home. It would be illegal to let something that good go to waste.
Baby noses at the door, but I ignore her. It’s not time for her to go out yet, and I flop on the couch and turn on a football game.
She starts whining, and I sigh. There’s a cute little golden retriever that lives in the building next door, and his owner’s probably downstairs taking their own evening turn around the neighborhood. “Fine. We’ll go out.”
In a mood I usually don’t get into, I jerk on my boots and jacket. I open the door, and Zarah’s sitting on the top step, shivering, sniffling, wiping her nose with a crumpled tissue.
“What are you doing out here? Go home.” My voice is gruff, and I try to rein it in, but I can’t. It’s not her fault her life is run by committee, but it affects me and I’m angry.
I sit down next to her.
“I don’t want to go,” she whispers, and her eyes are liquid in the hallway’s auxiliary lights.
“No one is saying you have to leave.”
“You got mad at me.”
“Yeah, I got mad. You think I like the idea of you dating other guys? I’m only human, Zarah, but I’m not dumb. I understand why Zane and your therapist want you to try new things. Life’s a buffet. It’s better to sample everything than choosing your favorite dish after only tasting one meal. Do you know what I mean?”
She kneels on the step in front of me, putting us at eye level. “What if I want dessert?”
I laugh. “You can’t live on dessert. It tastes good for a while, but eventually it will give you a stomachache. Try again.”
“What if I just . . . want . . . you?”
She lifts my hand and presses it to her breast, her skin warm through her blouse and bra. I rub my thumb over her nipple and her breath hitches.
“What are you doing?” I know very well what she’s doing. Tempting me, bribing me, hoping she can convince me to let her stay.
Leaning forward, she licks at my lips until I open my mouth. She doesn’t taste like anything but her, soft and sweet, an innocence that is far from safe. Especially if she thinks she can start using sex to get what she wants.
I shove her hand against my cock. I’m hard—I’d have to be a eunuch not to let Zarah’s touch turn me on—and she moans under my mouth. A shiver runs through her, and it might be desire, but I’m betting it’s more from fear.
“Do you wanna fuck?” I murmur against her lips.
She rears back, and I grab the collar of her jacket before she takes a tumble like poor Marci Grayson.
“Why do you have to turn it into something ugly?”
“Because a lot of men will. Don’t offer it if you can’t follow through. Scratch that. Don’t offer it if you don’t want it. I know you don’t. Not yet. Play games like this, and before you know it,you’re up shit creek without a paddle. Come inside.” I let go of her and shoo Baby back into the apartment.
“Wh-what are we going to do?”
I look over my shoulder, and she’s standing on the step, her eyes bigger than a cow’s and full of the same terror as on slaughter day.
Christ.