Page 88 of The Toy Maker

The light from the food court skylights hit Jason’s face just right, casting sharp angles along his jawline and making the gold in his eyes more pronounced. It wasdistracting.

“What, you haven’t enjoyed our adventure?” he asked, barely glancing up from his food.

I took a bite of my pizza and shrugged. “Unfortunately, this the highlight of my week.”

Which wasn’t a lie.

Whatwasa lie was pretending that sitting across from him didn’t make my palms sweat.

Jason furrowed his eyebrows. “Why’s that?” he asked.

“My mom’s in town,” I groaned, already exhausted just thinking about it. “And I’m never going to hear the end of my hideousapartment or my secretivejob.”

“Why would you keep your job a secret?”

I stared at him. “Are you kidding? She’d have a stroke.”

Jason chuckled, completely unbothered by my impending doom. “If you don’t terrify people a bit, then what’s the point?”

“You don’t know my mom,” I scoffed, staring down at my pepperoni.

“No, but I know mine,” he retorted. “I thought she was going to pull the shotgun off the wall and tear me a new asshole when I told her my plan to open my business.” That was avividimage.

“Oh, you mean the completely respectable sex-toy shop?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm that trailed off my lips. It was a chronic condition.

Jason smirked. “I suppose it was kind of hard for her to face the pastor on Sunday mornings after word got out.”

“So, you’re religious then?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his soda. “My family is.”

My eyes widened, but I tried to hide my surprise. I hadn’t put much thought into the origins that would create someone like Jason, but church wouldn’t have been my first guess. “What about you?”

He sighed, before deflecting, “I think thatyoubelieve in God.”

“Why do you think?—”

“If you don’t,” he interrupted, a slow smirk tugging at his lips, “then who are you calling out to when I fuck you?”

The worst part about dealing with an arrogant son of a bitch? Knowing he’s right.

Instead, I muttered under my breath as I ate my leftover crust, acting like Iwasn’tpicturing all the times he’d made me scream his name—among other things.

After our little chat over lunch, I made it my personal mission not to stare at him like a smitten schoolgirl for the rest of our shopping spree.

Easier said than done.

Jason was good-looking, sure, but apparently he was funny and pleasant even outside of the dungeon.

By the time we were finally done, we made the short ride back to Pink Cherrie, where Jason led me in through the back entrance.

As soon as we stepped inside, I glanced around, my eyes scanning for any trace of her.

His room was empty.

I tried not to let the relief show on my face, but deep down, I knew there were only three possible explanations:

Either it really was his sister who left while Jason distracted me, he was a liar, or I was a paranoid bitch.