Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

“This is my first time out of New York. Period. I’ve never been anywhere else besides here and the four-hour layover in Portugal. So technically speaking, I’ve visited two other places now besides New York.”

“You can’t count a layover as visiting another country. That’s just sad.”

“No. It’s just the truth.” I cross my arms and look out the window. It’s not as if Santiago means to judge, but it comes off that way.

The air shifts between us as I remain quiet. I can spend two hours in silence as long as he doesn’t play jazz music. That’s a hard limit.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry if what I said came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Uh-oh.”

I shift in my seat, turning to face him. “What?”

“‘Fine’ is code for I’m not fine and if you ignore it, I’ll tell you just how not fine I am a few hours from now and you’ll wish you had asked more from the get-go.”

I snort. “What? Who told you such classified information?”

“I grew up with a sister. She taught me the basics by the time I was a teenager.”

“Okay, your comment bothered me a little bit—”

He raises a brow.

“Okay, a lot. But it’s not your fault. It just reminds me of everything I missed out on that others have experienced. Growing up the way I did left much to be desired for.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad because you haven’t traveled. Especially not because of your circumstance.”

“It’s okay. No big deal.” I smile.

He bites down on his bottom lip in a way that isn’t meant to be sexy but is hot enough to break a glass thermometer. “So... What did you used to enjoy doing in your free time besides working?”

Great. He’s trying to be polite and I’m here lusting after him. “Besides embroidering? I mean, I don’t exactly have much free time to begin with.”

“Tell me more about that then.”

I rear back in my chair in surprise, banging my head against the headrest like a dork. “What do you want to know?”

“For starters, how did you get into that kind of hobby?”

“Well, I used to have some anger issues.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” He attempts to keep a straight face but laughs anyway.

“It’s true.” I punch him in the arm for emphasis.

He only laughs harder.

“So my social worker took me to the hobby store one day after an incident.” I shiver at the reminder of the day I lost my mom, my home, and my last ounce of innocence. “She told me I could pick anything from the store, but I had to agree it would be my outlet for my emotions rather than anything physical.”

“And what made you pick that?”

“She thought it would help for me to stab something. The needle seemed like a safe option.”

Santiago’s laugh bounces off the roof of the car. “I would’ve never guessed you had this much pent-up aggression.”

“I was pretty mad at the world as a teenager.”