Page 44 of My Masked Shadow

I laugh weakly. But then my smile drops.

“And afterward… in the car… he was sweet,” I admit quietly.

“Oh no,” Basia whispers. “Sweet is how it starts. Sweet is the gateway drug.”

“Right?” I fling my hands. “He was all attentive and soft-spoken and weirdly vulnerable. And then he got intense again. And then sweet again. And now my brain is soup.”

She nudges me. “So… you’re into him.”

“I am not into him,” I say immediately.

Basia looks at me like I just said I’m not into oxygen.

“You literally let the man hunt you.”

I make a wounded noise. “It was consensual!”

“Exactly my point.”

We keep walking until we hit one of the quiet lakeside paths. Ducks quack at us judgmentally. Even they know I’m a slutty mess.

“So what’s the actual problem?” Basia asks gently.

I swallow. “What if it wasn’t just the fantasy?” I admit. “What if I liked… him. All of it. Him being attentive. Him knowing what I needed. Him…” I wave helplessly. “Caring.”

Basia’s expression softens. “Oh, Barbara.”

“I don’t do this,” I whisper. “I don’t… lose myself in people.”

“You’re not losing yourself,” she says. “You’re feeling. There’s a difference.”

I snort. “Sure. Great. Fantastic. So now I get to have feelings and trauma and orgasms all at once. Love that for me.”

Basia laughs. “You sound like Morgan when she first told me about her and Damien.”

I wave her off. “No. No, this is not a Morgan-Damien situation.”

“Well,” Basia says thoughtfully, “you’re both being wooed by intense, intelligent men who want to protect you and ruin you simultaneously.”

“Basia, please.” I roll my eyes. “And who says ‘wooed’? Is this a regency novel?”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “Maybe we all have a type.”

“Oh my God.”

We walk a little more in silence, the cold air nipping my cheeks.

Then she nudges me. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“What do you want to do?” she asks gently.

My stomach does that awful fluttery thing. Not anxiety. Not lust. Something worse. Hope.

“I want…” I bite my lip. “I want to see him again.”

Basia squeezes my hand. “Then see him.”