Three Hard Lessons (Blindfold Club 2)

Neon. Neon everything. So many signs you didn’t know where to look, and you felt like you were on some futuristic porn movie set. This was where the love hotels were and the hostess bars Dominic had talked about. We gawked and grinned together at the perversion, and shrugged away from the barkers who tried to get us to come inside their bars. Shit, it was fun.

But tonight, we both wanted a break from all the Japanese.

“An American dinner,” I’d told him as he got ready for work. “That’s what you’re getting tonight, because I don’t know how to make anything else.”

There was a smug look on his face. “Cooking dinner for me? Such a good little housewife.”

“I’m going to rip your balls off if you ever say that again.”

His smile continued when he leaned down and kissed me goodbye.

My first thought was spaghetti. No. No noodles. Someth

ing fried and greasy. After I ran three miles on the treadmill in the basement, I went to the market and got everything I’d need to make fried chicken.

At six o’clock I’d successfully decimated his clean, tiny kitchen. But the test batch I cooked was awesome, and, holy shit, I was excited to get to do this. A normal, low-key dinner with Dominic, whom I sort of belonged to now.

My phone rang. Dominic. Why didn’t he just text me? Calls were outrageously expensive.

“Payton.” His voice was weird. “I’m on the train heading home, but I’ve got to turn around. The ship’s coming back to port with some instrument malfunction.”

My gaze dropped down to the mess of dishes and the sack of flour on the counter.

“I have to stay with the inventory,” he continued, “until the ship pulls back out again or I make the call to receive the inventory back into production.”

I didn’t want him to hear the disappointment in my voice. “How long are you going to be?”

“Hours. I’m sorry.”

I sat down at the dining table, feeling like I weighed five hundred pounds. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but . . . still.”

Three days left with him, and now one of them had been taken away.

“I understand,” I said, my voice tight. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

There was a soft sigh. “Please don’t wait up for me. I’ll feel even worse if you do.”

I held my tongue from asking if I had anything better to do. “Okay. Hope they get it figured out soon.”

“Me, too.” He paused. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

After the call was over, I fried up the chicken, ate a little, and put it in the comically small refrigerator. I drank one of the beers I’d bought, surfed mindlessly on the Internet for a while, and avoided thinking about him or what next week was going to be like. Probably a lot like this. No, it’d be fucking worse. I hadn’t even thought about the time difference.

One week ago I’d thrown a fit about sleeping arrangements. Now I was alone in his bed, pissed off, wishing he was here. Not just for the sex either, although I had no complaints there. Every day since our safe word discussion he’d edged a little closer to the line I’d asked him to cross.

Sometime later, the bed jostled and woke me.

“You’re awake?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” I rolled over and tossed my arm around him without thought, but the action wasn’t lost on either of us. I didn’t snuggle, I merely allowed him to. Something as simple as this was huge for me. I kept my voice even, but my arm where it was. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.” Dominic drew me in closer so I was tucked beside him. I had a hand on his chest, and beneath my fingertips, his heart raced.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”