“Why me?” she practically whispered. “We don’t run in the same circles. You were right.”
“About what? That I’m not good enough for you?”
“What? No.”
I slid back on my bed, leaned against the headboard.
“The arm patches. Remember when we were walking to pizza, you described what you thought an Art History professor looked like. The guy, the… Larry over here, he wore a jacket with arm patches yesterday.”
I could see it. Maybe even a pipe clenched between his teeth. Fuck him for his fucking quickie.
“I have a doctorate in medieval art, for god’s sake. I’m afraid of elevators, and I run to escape, but I don’t get anywhere. Why, why on earth would you want to be with me?”
I heard the confusion in her voice. She honestly believed—
I wanted to beat the shit out of every single person who made her doubt herself. That elbow patch prick would be the first for only validating that she was only worth enough of his time or attention to get off in some dark corner.
“First off, you’re too good for me. I have a GED I got in juvie. Barely. I’m not telling you about the shit I’ve done. Princess, I have a record. Jesus, baby, I fight for a living even though these days they’re in a ring, yeah? As for elevators, we can always take the stairs. And running? As long as you run to me, everything’s going to be just fine.”
She was quiet then, and I felt like shit.
“Princess, don’t cry.”
I heard her deep breath. “I’m not crying. I told you, I don’t cry.”
Except with me. She was crying, but I wasn’t going to argue. She was the strongest woman I knew, and I wasn’t going to think less of her if she shed a few tears. But she didn’t seem to know that yet.
“When are you coming home? I’m sick of talking to you on the phone, and maybe you’re right, we skip the phone sex. You come home, and I’ll get you beneath me. The real thing’s gonna be better anyway. It will be with me,” I added, just so she knew I was different, that we were different. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“I left my car there.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Princess,” I said with a warning tone. She was dodging.
“Soon,” she repeated then hung up.
Fuck.
16
HARPER
My tires were flat. I couldn’t miss it as I walked up to my car in the parking garage.
It was Christmas. While everyone else on the flight was upbeat and cheerful, headed to visit family, I knew I was returning to an empty apartment. No big holiday dinner. No mistletoe or stockings, no Norman Rockwell get-together. No, I came out of customs and didn’t find grandparents with glittered posters waiting for me. Instead, I found a special gift, my destroyed tires. Not just flat, but slashed. If that wasn’t a sign that Cam was out of jail, I didn’t know what was.
I should’ve spent the flight thinking about the conversation with Reed. I had no doubt he’d be really good at phone sex. Even better at the real thing. What he’d wanted me to do… it still made me hot.
But instead of thinking about his big hands on me, I’d thought about Cam, and rightly so. I’d had eight hours to watch movies and stew. He was out of prison, and I had no doubt he’d be visiting me soon enough. I just hadn’t expected him to slash my tires. I sighed, debating what to do about it.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
I spun on my heel, my fingers slipping from the handle of my wheeled suitcase, and it fell to the ground in the airport long-term parking garage. The sound of metal on concrete echoed in the huge structure.
My heart leapt into my throat at the sight of the two men. I’d never seen them before, but I knew who they were. Who they worked for. They wore thick puffy coats and black caps, their breath coming out in puffs of white. They couldn’t be much older than me, much older than the two who’d tried to assault me in the elevator.