Queen Move

His mouth flattens into a hard line and his jaw hardens to stone. “I want strings.”

“Y-you do?”

“I want strings.” He links our fingers, strokes his thumb across my palm. “Ropes, if necessary. I want anything that keeps you with me and me with you and tells everyone else don’t even think about it.”

I’m stunned and incredibly turned on, but that doesn’t take much where Ezra’s concerned.

“You…you do?” I ask faintly…again.

“I wouldn’t do well sharing you.”

The thought of sharing him pours acid into a deep cut, a completely unfamiliar feeling, but I can’t deny it’s there. “I agree,” I tell him.

“Look. We’re already redefining the relationship,” he says. “Strings attached?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” I step closer, tipping up on my toes to kiss him. “But yes, I want all the strings.”

If I wasn’t really into Ezra before, after I had his stuffed French toast, I would have been.

“Wow.” I pat my full belly. “Now I get it.”

“It’s Noah’s favorite,” he says, taking his empty plate and mine to the sink. “Wait’ll you see what we’re having for lunch.”

“First of all, I can’t even think about more food right now.” I walk over and loop my arms around his waist, press my front to his broad back. “Second of all, I need to go home.”

He tenses under my ch

eek. “Already?”

“I could let you see me later today,” I say, smiling and huddling deeper into the taut muscles of his back.

He turns, cups my face in both hands and dots kisses along my jawline. “How very gracious of you.”

“I do have to get home, though. My mom…let’s just say I’m already due an earful. My dress should be dry by now. I can catch an Uber.”

“No way.” A frown settles on his face. “I’ll take you home.”

“Ezra—”

“I said I’ll take you home.”

Before I can protest further, his cell rings. He leans over to inspect the screen and sighs. “Aiko’s mom. She probably wants an update on Aiko and Noah. I can call her back.”

“No. Talk to her.” I slip out of his hold. “I’ll get dressed and be ready by the time you’re done.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He nods and reaches for the phone. “Xin chào cô.”

I do a double take at the base of the stairs. Ezra speaks Vietnamese? He leans against the counter, continuing in words I don’t understand, crossing one arm across his chest while he’s on the phone. There’s a familiarity, affection in the exchange with Aiko’s mother. Noah’s grandmother. They’ve known each other ten years, so it makes sense.

Hearing him actually speak Vietnamese with such ease underlines how tangled his life is with Aiko’s. Even if they aren’t romantically involved anymore, they’re inextricably linked through Noah and so many other things I can’t even begin to anticipate.

Upstairs, I go to the laundry room where Ezra hung my dress. It’s slotted on a metal bar between a tiny red robe with bright flowers and a blouse I couldn’t fit one boob into.

“Wow, she’s petite,” I mutter, tossing Ezra’s boxers and T-shirt into the hamper. I slip the dress over my head, slide my feet into my mud-splashed, misshapen Jimmy Choos and walk back to Ezra’s bedroom. Actually, it’s the guest bedroom where he told me he’s been sleeping. I venture down the hall to a door that opens to the master.