Page 5

It was 255 miles from Flagstaff to Las Vegas. I found that out in Flagstaff when I stopped there for gas and to speculate about where Kitt might be heading. The tracking devices in his bag and on his tire were still working like a charm, and he was headed in the direction of Vegas. The GPS was still working in his bag and on the SUV, so the little dumbass had made no headway apparently in figuring out how I had found him in Arizona. He had to be close to running out of money by this time, so I figured he was heading for some other contact or friend who lived in Vegas, hoping to be able to crash with them for a while.

The drive wasn’t all that long, so I managed to wait until he’d stopped again before I stopped to rest too. It was past midnight, by then, so I got a room at a hotel on the interstate, fell into bed, and slept hard till morning. Those little hotel “complimentary breakfasts” were never enough for me, so I found a Denny’s close by and had a good breakfast, with eggs, bacon, grits, hash browns, biscuits, and lots of orange juice and coffee. Feeling energized again, I got back on the road, heading toward his location. The devices showed he hadn’t moved in the last ten hours, so maybe he’d finally landed somewhere.

I got out my laptop and spent some time looking through the information his brother Jazz had given me and I found a name. Jazz had mentioned another name as a high probability of someone Kitt might run to if he’d already left Albuquerque. It was his best friend from high school, a boy named Jack Winslow, and that just happened to be the same boy he’d been caught with at the BDSM club in Atlanta. The incident that had sent his father over the edge. The young man had moved shortly after that, too, all the way to Las Vegas. His parents had kicked him out after what happened, and Las Vegas was where Winslow had wound up.

I remember thinking it was odd that he had no employment and was living with some guy there, who was quite a bit older. Could it be a Dom? I decided I needed to find out just exactly what the investigator Kitt’s father hired had found in that BDSM club when he’d gone looking.

I made it to Vegas by early that afternoon and rode by Kitt’s location. It was a set of modest apartments nowhere near the strip, but closer to the UNLV. The rental car was parked in the lot, so I pulled into a parking place out front to stake it out. After a few hours, a red Jeep Wrangler pulled up outside and two people got out—a young guy around Kitt’s age and an older man, who was probably in his forties. They were holding hands as they went up to an apartment and let themselves in with a key. I sat there for another three hours, but no one came in or out. It was fairly late by then, so I went to find a hotel room to crash for the night.

I found one not too far away and checked in. The next morning, after a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, I was back outside the apartment. It was the next day after that, though, before I got my first glimpse of Kitt. All three of them—Kitt, his friend and the forty-something guy—came out of the apartment around eight in the evening and got in the Jeep. Kitt was wearing skintight jeans and a leather vest, with that same denim jacket over it. I followed them to a club called The Red Door and waited until they all went inside.

I followed them in, paid the fee and began to look around. It was a typical club, like I’d been in before—dim lighting, the smell of sex and sweat everywhere and people walking around wearing nothing or next to nothing. This was Vegas after all.

But though I looked in the main room, spent some time in the dungeon room and even went by some of the smaller, specialty rooms, there was no sign of any of them anywhere. I was beginning to wonder if they’d seen me and had ducked out another entrance, when I saw some activity outside a door tucked behind the bar and down a long corridor. It wasn’t too close to the bar—in fact, it was almost in its own separate area, but I saw people coming and going from it a lot. None of them were dressed in fetish wear, which struck me as a bit odd. I headed toward the door, but I was stopped by one of the club employees. At least I thought he was an employee. He was wearing a shirt with the club name and logo.

“Good evening, Sir. Can I help you?”

“I’d like to go inside and look around.”

“I see, Sir. You are aware that this is the Littles Room, aren’t you? Most of them are accompanied, and you’re welcome to observe, but you shouldn’t approach any of them.”

I think I raised my eyebrows—thankfully, it was pretty low lighting, and I don’t think the bouncer noticed my slight flinch. A Littles Room—that could very well be why Kitt’s father had freaked out when he got the report from his detective. It wasn’t much of a stretch to see Kitt as a Little either. He was a brat, for sure. And a submissive—it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

“Yes, I know,” I replied. “I’m here to observe. I won’t approach any of them. I imagine their uh…Daddies wouldn’t like that too much.”

“No, not at all.” He checked my ID again and finally gave me a stiff smile. “Enjoy yourself, Sir.”

I opened the door and stepped inside. There were only about fifteen or sixteen people inside the room, which had a big screen television, with a wide carpet in front of it. Some men or boys were sitting on the rug, dressed in various outfits, like footed pajamas, clutching teddy bears and sucking on pacifiers. Most were watching cartoons, but some were on the rug, playing quietly with children’s toys. At the back of the room were several sofas and big easy chairs, with men sitting there quietly watching their boys. They were the Daddy Doms, or just Daddies.

I saw Kitt right away. He was with his friend at a small table, working with Legos. They were building something that looked like a big robot and both were chatting and smiling. Kitt was dressed in jeans and a brightly colored t-shirt. He wore his bracelets—even more of them now—and a beaded necklace close around his throat.

He saw me at about the same time I noticed him. He gave a huge gasp, jumped to his feet and looked around for a place to run. I strolled over and stood looking down at him.

“Hello Kitt. Well, look at you—here you are, without a single telephone to bash my brains out with. Poor baby. What are you going to do?” His eyes got comically round, and a tiny sprig of pity tried to struggle up out of my heart to reach the light.

I stepped on it and mashed it flat. I didn’t feel sorry for him in the least. He had brought all this on himself. I grabbed his wrist and held onto him tightly before he could try to run.

Before he could move, however, I heard somebody say, “Hey! What are you doing? Let go of him!” right behind me.

I turned and waited, holding a sullen looking Kitt by his wrist as he tried to twist away. I didn’t have long to wait. A big, beefy guy came rushing over to us and headed straight for me. A few of the other “Daddies” were right behind him. I put up a hand to slow their roll, but the guy in front didn’t look as if he were in the mood to listen. Shoving Kitt behind me, but still holding onto him, I got ready for the newcomer to join our little drama, and when the guy strode belligerently up to me, I held up the paperwork from my pocket and held it in front of his nose.

“I’m a recovery officer from the state of Georgia, where this man lives, and I’ve come after him,” I told him, and he gave me a blank, disbelieving stare.

I pulled Kitt closer, took him by the arm, and started out the door. We didn’t make it far before the forties looking guy, along with his companion, Kitt’s friend, the one he’d been playing Legos with, came boiling across the floor at me.

“Hold up,” I told them. “I’m a bounty hunter. I have the right by law to take this man into my custody. Look at the paperwork.”

“What are the charges?”

“He’s wanted in Georgia and he assaulted me in Arizona and stole money from me. Is that good enough for you? If not, I don’t give a fuck, because I’ll be removing him to another state, and I have all the necessary paperwork right here. Call the local cops if you want. They’ll tell you the same thing. This is a signed statement from his legal guardian, who wants him returned to Georgia.”

I held up my copy of the papers from Kitt’s brother, plus my own credentials again. “If you don’t want to be charged with harboring a fugitive, you’ll get the fuck out of my way.”

The forties looking guy snatched the paper from my hand and glanced over it. When he was done, he stuck out his chin pugnaciously. “I don’t see a warrant. As far as I’m concerned, you’re trespassing.”

“I don’t need a warrant. This paper here,” I snatched it back and waved it in his face. “Says I have the right to enter this property unannounced to take him into custody. Now stop obstructing and get the fuck out of my way, or I’m coming through you.”

The man and his boy reluctantly moved aside. There was a bit of an uproar going on with the other Littles and I regretted that I’d had to upset them. It was best that we just get the hell out of there. I moved my grip to Kitt’s hand and pulled him out the door and down the hall.

“I don’t understand,” he said, putting his other hand over his face and starting to cry—not loud, showy tears, but soft little heartbroken sounds with tears running down his cheeks that ripped my damn heart right out of my chest.

Well, shit.

“Stop all that,” I snapped. “It’s not working.”

The problem, of course, was that I was lying. It was working just fine.

In my line of work, I’d seen a lot of tears. Fugitives had cried all over me, fought me, kicked me, begged me, and generally made a nuisance of themselves, but I was never moved by anything they said or did. My philosophy was that if you did the crime, you could do the time. Period.

But his tears were different, and I wasn’t sure why.

I got him outside to my SUV and put him in the front seat, buckling him in.

“Put your hands down and look at me.”

He did as I asked and turned his tear-splotched face toward me. When some people cry, they get patchy red skin and their face twists up and their nose streams. It makes them look ugly, but not Kitt. His skin got even paler and more porcelain-like, except for two, round rosy spots on his cheeks. His thick, dark eyelashes were tear-drenched, though, which made them even darker, and his bottom lip was puffed out in a little pout, like a damn baby’s. It shouldn’t have bothered me a bit. I should have been able to laugh at him like I usually did with my fugitives and keep on going.

I couldn’t fucking do it.

I fought it like hell for a few more seconds. Then I turned toward him. I leaned over him to unlatch his seat belt and pull him across the seat and into my lap. “Stop that crying. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Y-you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Are you afraid of me? I’m not going to harm you, despite what you did to me. I was only trying to scare you just now, but not this bad. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Please relax.”

“What? No, please listen. I can’t go back to Atlanta. There are people there who will kill me.”

“No, Kitten, they won’t be able to get to you.”

He shot me a dark glance at my use of the pet name. I didn’t even know where that name came from, or why I started using it, though it just seemed appropriate to call him that. He was like a prickly little kitten, all teeth and claws one minute and cute and cuddly the next. Also, I wouldn’t mind making him purr, but that was a different story.

“But what if they do!”

“You’re in much greater danger here, just running around with no protection. Not to mention your friends, as well. Now we’re going back to that apartment you’ve been staying at to get your things.”

“Okay,” he said, pretending to be meek.

“Do you have a key?”

“It’s under the mat.”

“Good. Now sit back over in your seat and be a good boy.”

He widened his eyes at me, and I started the SUV and began to drive back to the apartment. I had spoken to him and was treating him like he was a Little, because it seemed right, and I didn’t know what his true mindset was. We were going to have to have a long talk about it soon though.

Once back at the apartment, we went inside, and he went to a bedroom to get his bag.

“I need to change clothes.”

“Just hurry up,” I said, though what he had on seemed fine to me.

He pulled off his shoes and then pushed down his jeans along with his Spiderman underpants to come over and stand way too close, his dick brushing up against me. It seemed he was still not willing to stop trying to seduce me. I suppose he still thought he could get out of this by trading his body for sex. His body was perfection—lean and hard, and his skin was smooth and white. His cock was pretty much perfect as well, just right in size—not so big as to make another guy envious, but large and full and ready for action, flushed a dark pink.

“Can I get a shower first?”

“Maybe later. Right now, we need to make up for lost time. No funny stuff or I’ll put cuffs on you, and I’ll take you out of here just like you are.”

“Aye, Aye, sir,” the little smart ass said, saluting me with his free hand. “Anything you say, sir.”

“Oh, you think this is a good time to be a smart ass? With that bare butt of yours so handy?”

His eyes widened and he stepped back, holding onto his ass. “No. No, I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Then get dressed or I’ll put you over my knee.”

He angled a look up at me and drew his pants on slowly, giving me an eyeful of that shapely ass. “How did you find me again anyway?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He gave me another pouty look and started searching for a shirt. He finally pulled another t-shirt from the bag, very much like the one he just took off. I wondered what this all had been about, other than another chance to seduce me. I let him put on his shirt, but not the shoes.

“What? Do you really expect me to go barefoot? But I’ll get my feet dirty.”

“You’ll be okay. And easier to catch if you decide to run again.”

He huffed at that and held out his hands by his side. “Then I guess I’m all yours.”

Not yet, but you’re going to be.

The thought had popped into my head fully formed and so loud and strong I almost said it to his face, though I managed to stifle it at the last second. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Get your bag and put your shoes and socks inside it. Then let’s go.”

“Can’t I at least go pee first?”

I sighed. “All right, go ahead. But keep the door open.”

He grabbed his bag, shot me a resentful look—which I thought showed an awful lot of nerve—and went in the bathroom, making an elaborate show of pushing back the door.

I went to stand in the doorway just to be as big an ass as he was being. I watched him do what he needed to do and pull on a Superman ballcap he got out of his bag because I “hadn’t given him enough time to fix his hair, and it looked bad.”

When he finally finished, I took a custodial grip on his arm and took him downstairs. “Give me the keys to the car you stole from me.”

He blushed and handed them over. I walked him out to my rental and put the keys under the mat and locked the door. Then I walked him over to my other SUV and put him in the front seat, buckling him in. I grabbed his wrist and cuffed him to the armrest, while he looked on resentfully, as I called the Vegas office of the car rental agency and arranged for my other SUV to be picked up. I paid the extra charge over the phone and then we were back on the road, headed east.

He held out about ten minutes before he couldn’t stand it and started yelling as he saw I was headed to the airport.

“I’m not going on an airplane, and I mean it.” He folded his arms over his chest and stuck out his chin. “I’m not!”

“You’ll do as you’re told.”

He turned to me then, with honest-to-God tears standing in his pretty eyes again. Damn him, he drew those tears on me like a knife.

“Please don’t make me. Please, please… I just can’t.”

I sighed and pulled over to the side of the road. I needed to get to the bottom of this shit, because it was damned inconvenient.

“Why are you freaking out so much?”

He turned his head to the side and put both hands over his eyes.

“No, I can’t talk about it. Please don’t make me.”

“You’re going to talk about it, Kitten, because I can’t help you if I don’t understand. Now spill it.”

He squirmed and huffed and looked everywhere but at me, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy. Once he finally realized it, his shoulder slumped, and he turned to me with a tear-stained face.

“It was my Pop. My grandfather. He used to fly his own small plane. And-and he died in a crash. I-I can’t stand the idea of being on one of them now. I just can’t.” He reached over and touched my arm with his free hand. It was even trembling, which I thought was a nice touch.

“I think I’m going to need more information. Tell me all of it.”

He looked over at me and began wringing his hands. I was beginning to realize it was one of his coping mechanisms. “It-it was when I was a kid. He was taking me to Florida for the weekend. We began to take off and—something went wrong. I don’t know what. He tried to land again. We crashed, and I don’t remember much more after that. I woke up in the hospital.”

“You were in the plane with him.”

“Y-yes. I don’t remember much though. And I don’t want to.” He looked over at me and took my hand in his.

“Please, Rio. Please, please. I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be so good. I promise! Please don’t make me get on a plane. I’ll have a panic attack.”

I blew out a breath. Of course, I couldn’t make him now. Now that I knew he’d been in an actual plane crash with his grandfather—who had died . Damn it. I didn’t even have time to check the info before our plane took off. I couldn’t believe I was letting him get away with this shit.

“Damn it, you’re a lot of work. Okay, then, since you’re freaking out so damn much about it, we’ll drive back to Atlanta. Though I’d advise you to get some help for that someday soon.”

“Okay,” he said again, in a meek little voice that was a total lie. He didn’t have a meek bone in his body. “Yes, sir. I will. I promise. And thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Whatever,” I growled back at him, because I didn’t believe a word of it, and I’d just agreed to probably another day or two on the road with this little psycho. “But you’re a total pain in the ass, and I want that on record.”

“Yes, sir. I know. Duly noted.”

I shot him another look to see if he was mocking me, but he seemed sincere enough, considering what a little fraud he was. I turned around at the next off ramp and headed back in the direction of Albuquerque, planning to hit I-40 again.

He sat back in his seat, like he was greatly relieved, and he sighed and began staring out the window. I thought I might get a little peace then, but I soon heard his stomach growling.

“Are you fucking serious?” I asked him.

He smiled sheepishly at me. “Sorry. I didn’t have dinner and Ben, that’s my friend Jack’s Daddy, said he’d buy us chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese later.” He shrugged. Rubbed his stomach and looked out the window again. “I’m so hungry.”

He glanced over at me hopefully, but I ignored him. He sighed and turned to look out the window, still rubbing his stomach, the little shit.

We needed to have a talk soon, so I could learn more about him. It struck me that his brother hadn’t told us the whole story, and he’d been less than honest about Kitt.

He seemed to be younger than his chronological age. Or he did at times, anyway. I’d heard of Littles regressing at times. Was this it? He was twenty, not quite twenty-one if you went by his birth certificate. He still acted more like a young teenager at times. Maybe even younger than that. I wondered if it was because he’d been sheltered by his family or if there was something wrong with him mentally. I didn’t think that was true—he’d been sharp enough to outwit me a couple of time—but I wasn’t totally sure. Maybe it wasn’t so strange that his father had wanted him to have a guardian after all. Emotionally, he was kind of a mess.

It didn’t fit in with his history of going to gay dance clubs or his wild spending, or the way he smoked too much and drank too much—but then again, maybe it did. It was exactly the kind of silly, reckless behavior a very young teenager might get up to when he was unsupervised, not made to follow rules and had plenty of money at his disposal. Jazz gave him a generous allowance and he had his own credit cards.

Jazz said Kitt had some kind of strange “kink,” and he didn’t like to talk about it. And Kitt had seemed pretty much at home in that Littles room with his friend. Was Kitt a Little? More specifically, a Middle? Could that be the secret Jazz was keeping?

I’d been to more than a few BDSM clubs myself over the years, though I’d never seriously been interested in being a Dom. Not for too long anyway. I wasn’t interested in whipping, flogging or caning anyone, for one thing, whether or not they wanted it or liked it. Nothing wrong with it, but it just wasn’t my thing. I’d seen a few Daddy Doms though, and that intrigued me a bit more, especially the more dominant Daddies and their Littles.

But the ones I noticed the most were the “caretaker” type of Doms. They were called Daddies because they acted almost like caregivers to their partners. They seemed to have such an extremely close relationship with their Little, who trusted their Daddy to know what they needed and to never abuse their power over them. The Little made themselves vulnerable to their Daddy and showed a side of their personality that was sensitive and really important to them.

Was there some guy that Kitt had trusted in that way? Had Kitt been with someone like that when his father caught him? Jealousy took me by the throat. I didn’t see him as being a really young Little. Littles could act like really young children—like from two or three to around six. Middles, on the other hand, were usually interested in acting a bit older.

They weren’t typically interested at all in babyish stuff like bottles, diapers, pacifiers, onesies, and so on. Or maybe some did, but it wasn’t the norm, from what I’d seen. In my somewhat limited experience, Middles were more often like twelve or thirteen, loving clothes and video games and music and all the latest dances. Their Daddies put them on an allowance and made strict rules for them to follow. Often, they liked things like wearing pretty clothes. Or they might like being a Swiftie and wearing the friendship bracelets, though to be fair, plenty of adults did that too. I glanced over at Kitt’s wrists, and he was still wearing his red and green beaded bracelets, as in multiples—maybe ten or more of them now—the colors of Christmas, of course. I wondered if he changed them by seasons. Some of the little “beads” were tiny Santas and Elves.

And Middles always, always seemed to have a lot of attitude, from what I’d heard. They weren’t unlike some bratty submissives in that regard, except they needed even more direction from their Doms. Or in this case, their Daddy. Sometimes they could even be a little hyper-sexual too, especially with someone they considered—or wanted to be—their Daddies. Kitt definitely ticked that box. I was shocked by how jealous I felt that someone else might have acted like his “Daddy.” I fucking hated the idea. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. God knew that if anyone ever needed to be looked after and told what to do, it was Kitt. And I was a little surprised at how abhorrent I found the idea of anyone else doing that job. Except maybe…me.

“So anyway,” I said, clearing my throat in a bit of alarm at that idea, “You’re hungry?”

“Oh, yes, I’m starving.”

There was an Interstate sign ahead that looked like it had some food options on it. “Look at the sign and see what you might like at the next exit. I need to stop for gas anyway.”

“Okay,” he said eagerly, leaning forward. “Ooh look, they have a MacDonald’s. But I don’t have much money.” He glanced over at me. “I suppose I have enough for French fries.”

“What else is there?”

“Um, a Hardees. A Denny’s too.”

“No great choices, but I guess we’ll go to Denny’s. You don’t need any more hamburgers and fries. I’ll get you some eggs.”

“But hamburgers and fries are so good!” he said, smiling at me. “By the way, I…uh…you may have to loan me some cash. I don’t have much money.”

“Yes, you’ve said that a few times now, so I was able to figure it out.”

He blushed. “Don’t be mean.”

I blew out a long breath. “Tell me, because I’d love to know…just how were you planning on driving any farther after you left Jack’s apartment? You had to know you couldn’t stay there forever. How far did you think you’d get without money for gas?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe I would have gone to a gas station and told people I was stranded and begged them for some money? I think they call that panhandling. Or maybe I could have just left the car and hitchhiked?”

“Do you have any idea how dumb an idea panhandling is? Not to mention hitchhiking.” I realized I was shouting at him and tried hard to modulate my voice. “It’s dangerous. I should spank that little ass of yours again.”

He drew in on himself like I’d frightened him with the yelling or threatening him, and immediately I felt bad.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to yell, but you make me a little crazy.”

“When I was on the way here, I stopped at a truck stop and some guy tapped on my window. It scared me and I drove off.”

“Tapped on your window? Where were you parked?”

“In the lot near the trucks.”

“Well, that explains it. He probably thought you were a lot lizard.”

“A what?”

“That’s what some truckers call prostitutes at the truck stops.”

“Oh.” His cheeks bloomed rosy red. “But that wasn’t why I parked there. I just thought it might be safer with all the big trucks around.” He was quiet for a moment and then frowned, blushing again. “That’s an awful name for someone to call people.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“People can be so mean.”

I nodded because I wasn’t sure what to say. He seemed so sensitive.

“Maybe it’s just me,” he said. “Jazz says I’m really annoying.”

“No, you’re not. Exactly. Stop looking like that and put your shoes back on. Your feet are turning blue. Why didn’t you bring your socks, anyway?”

I don’t like underwear,” he said, blowing my mind again. But he did as I asked, shooting me long, hurt looks. I had to wonder if he was doing this on purpose to make me feel bad for him. I decided he had to be.

I pulled into a gas station, got out and pumped my gas. He sat quietly in the front seat, still cuffed to the door. He was being almost too good—I didn’t trust him at all.

When I got back in, I continued my interrogation. “Where the hell were you planning on going from here?”

“San Francisco.”

“San Francisco? Why there? Who do you know there?” I asked, my tone a little suspicious.

He shrugged. “Nobody. I just thought it might be fun to see the Golden Gate bridge. And take the boat out to San Quentin. Oh, and ride the cable cars on all the hills.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about it.”

“My granddad told me. He was going to take me there one day. Before…you know.”

“So, after he passed away, you decided you’d just go on your own.”

He nodded happily.

“Using what for money?”

He shrugged and got a look on his face like I’d just killed his puppy again, making me feel like a bully.

“I thought I’d just cross that bridge when I came to it.”

I refrained from yelling at him again, but just barely. He really did need a keeper, damn it.

“A lot of people are homeless there,” he informed me. “I read about that. I thought maybe I could have slept on the streets like they do.”

I glanced over at that remarkable load of shit and shook my head. “People are homeless, because it’s so expensive to live there. Among other reasons, anyway. Besides, do you know how cold and windy it is in San Francisco?”

“Cold? But it’s California.”

“Yes, it’s in northern California, and it’s on the coast. It can get really cold there.”

“Even in the summer?”

“Even then.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

We were pulling up to the Denny’s by that time, so I leaned across him to take him out of the cuffs. He smelled good. I took a deep breath and then tried to steel myself against him. It was at that moment that my phone rang, blasting the car with Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.

I shot him an evil look as he giggled. I had left my phone in the console when we stopped for gas, and the little brat couldn’t stop himself from messing with it. He had downloaded what had to be the most obnoxious country song ever written for Christmas time. He looked back at me and giggled again.

I grabbed it up, shot him a dirty look and answered the phone.

“Hello,” I practically yelled and on the other end, I heard Lucas chuckle.

“Rio? Is everything all right there?”

“It’s fine. Just the kid being a smartass.”

“Is that why someone just called from your number and then hung up? Twice?”

“Damn it, he must have hit redial on my phone. Sorry to bother you, Lucas. It won’t happen again.”

He hung up, still chuckling, and I leaned in closer and looked Kitt right in the eye before I took him inside.

“I don’t want any more trouble out of you. You got that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He blushed again. “Yes, sir.” He sounded nice and meek, which was totally bogus, and I didn’t even pretend to believe him.

“I won’t hesitate to take you out of there if you try anything. Got it?”

He nodded, his eyes wide. “And stop messing with my phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

I got out to open his door, and as soon as he stepped out of the car, I took his hand firmly in mine, and he glanced up at me in surprise.

“I’m holding onto you from now on, so you may as well get used to it.”

He blushed and nodded again. Those little blushes of his were so cute they were killing me.