Gathering up my books and my laptop, I stuff everything in my bag and head out of the library. I need to get my act together. Can’t let what happened with him rattle me, even as the memory of his body under my fingertips makes my blood run hotter in my veins.
Because we all know what comes after that if I meet him again, if I try to go further: panic, tears, a backslide into the past.
No, better stop thinking about him. Somehow. Study harder. Maybe I should get a pet. A furball to cuddle with at night.
And of course that makes me think of Riot’s pets—Dexter, and what was the other one? Batman? Strays he picked up from the street. He said I was like the kitten he rescued. That I needed to learn how not to be afraid.
Said he could help me, but he was wrong. He can’t. I can’t be helped. The past is too strong. Wraps around me like a rope, a leash, a noose.
I can’t win. And he can’t save me.
My car engine takes a moment to warm up, and I rub my hands together waiting for the heater to kick in. It’s a cold, cold night. There’s a scent of snow on the air.
The cold in my bones can’t be chased away, no matter how wrapped up I am in my coat and scarf. In fact, in these past two years, the only time I felt warm…
The times he held my hand. It was as if heat spilled from his fingers into mine.
And this isn’t helping. Nothing’s helping. I already decided I can’t see Riot again. If only my heart felt less heavy, my thoughts lighter.
If only I didn’t want to see him again so much. Even if it won’t help. Even if it’s to feel his warmth, his fingers around mine for a moment.
What is this weird need? The need that has me pulling out my cell from my purse and dialing the agency before I realize what I’m doing.
“Bad Boy Escorts,” the receptionist’s by now familiar, smooth baritone greets me. “How may I help you?”
I clutch the phone to my ear and suck in air. “Hi. This is Paxtyn. Paxtyn Page. I’m—”
“Ms. Page. What a pleasure to hear from you again. You wish for Riot or another of our boys?”
Crap. “Um. Riot, but I—”
“Excellent. Tonight? He’s free.”
I swallow hard. “He is?”
“The usual time? Eight?”
Wait, I have a usual time after three meetings? “I was calling to ask—”
“Eight o’clock it is then. The usual place?” The receptionist sounds pleased. Of course he does. That’s money for the agency, and himself. “All set. I’ll let him know.”
“Wait! That’s not what I called to say. I just…”
But he’s hung up already. I mean, I called the escort agency. What else would he think I wanted?
What am I doing?
What have I done?
I could redial. Tell the guy to cancel the appointment. I haven’t signed anything. Nobody can make me go to the meeting against my will.
Of course not. I called because I want this. Even if it doesn’t fix me. Even if it’s just a moment’s fix, a need for something elusive and hard to define.
Warmth. Quiet. A flash of desire. A strong hand gripping mine. A sexy grin. God, I can’t wait to see him again.
And this is bad. Really bad. Like, if Corey knew, he’d have a fit. He’d have absolutely no problem telling me I’ve lost it and what a stupid idea it is to ever meet Riot again.
***