The Wild Side (The Wild Side 1)

She turned her head and shot me a questioning look.  “You don’t have to stop,” she said softly.

I bent and kissed her shoulder.  “You are the sweetest girl, but I can’t possibly go another round today.”

She just nodded and turned back to the wall, letting her head fall forward as the water ran over her.  I got her off with my fingers, smiling into her neck as she gasped and shook in my arms.

It was glorious.  She was glorious.

We got into bed na**d and still slightly damp.  I was wrapping myself around her when she said softly, “It’s time for me to go.  I have to work a cigarette girl gig tonight.”

I squeezed her.  “Don’t.  Stay with me.”

She just shook her head.  “I can’t.  Not tonight.  I can come back when I’m done, if you want me to, but it will be very late.”

“That’s fine.  Come back whenever you can.”

She just nodded and went into my closet.

I followed, even so tired and spent that I felt weak, because I didn’t want her to slip away again while I was sleeping.  That was a pattern I was very keen to break.

Her duffle bag was in there, and she began digging through it.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.  While you were sleeping, the locksmith came by and changed your locks.  He said you’d given him prior instruction, and that he could bill you later, so I didn’t bother to wake you up.  He left your new keys on the butler’s pantry.”

“Did he leave spares?”

“Yes.”

I threw on some shorts.  “I need your cell number,” I told her as I strode out of the closet, on a hunt for keys.

“I don’t have one,” she called back.

That stopped me short.  “You don’t have a cell number?” I asked dumbly.

“I don’t have a cell.”

I was flabbergasted.  Even I, the most reclusive person I knew, had a cell.  She was in her twenties and obviously highly social.  It made no sense at all.  In fact, there were a lot of things about her that weren’t adding up.

“I don’t like them,” she said, going back to digging through her bag.  “I don’t like the idea that they act as a tracking device.”

“What about a pre-paid one?  I don’t think you even have to use your real name for those.”

“Doesn’t matter.  I don’t like them.”

I walked away, stewing about that.  Was she in some kind of trouble with the law?  Why was she so paranoid about being tracked?  Who the hell didn’t have a cell phone?

I found the new keys, but left mine where they were, carrying the second set up to her.

She took them without protest and an assurance that she’d be back later.

I tried again to talk her into taking one of my cars, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  She was just as vehemently against me giving her a ride.

It didn’t help when I got a load of what she was wearing out.  She’d disappeared into my bathroom for maybe fifteen minutes, blasting that drunk in the kitchen song on my bathroom radio, but came out looking like a million bucks, wearing more makeup than I’d ever seen on her, her hair smoothed out and loose down her back.

But it was her outfit that really got me.  Tiny black shorts and a tight, white halter neck top.  And her shoes, God, I hadn’t realized I was a shoe guy until I saw her sexy legs in strappy white Gladiator style heels that went up to her knees.  They were killer, and I couldn’t stand that she was going out alone like this, whatever the reason.

I tried again to talk her into taking a car.

I was agitated when she just walked out my front door, clearly on foot.

I took my most nondescript car, a black Prius, less than five minutes later.

The neighborhood guard knew what I was looking for before I asked.

“I just called her a cab, sir.  She’s waiting on the other side of the gate,” he said quietly, pointing in that direction.

I was pulling past the gate just in time to catch her getting into a taxi.

At least she wasn’t on foot, or God forbid, hitchhiking.  That had been my fear, the reason I’d followed her, to allay my fears.

But even so, as though all impulse control had left me, I found myself following the cab as it pulled away.  I wanted to see what she was doing, where she was going.  She’d said something about being a cigarette girl, which, truth be told, I didn’t like at all.  I wanted to see what all that entailed, though I didn’t intend for her to see me.  The last thing I wanted to do was scare her off.

It was the first time I’d ever tailed anybody, and I stayed far back as I followed the car across town, to the strip.  I almost lost them twice, as I tried to stay inconspicuous, but with a little luck, and a few red lights ran, I managed to catch sight of her exiting the vehicle at the entrance to one of the smaller casinos on the strip.

I dropped my car off at the valet, and entered the building in time to see her moving into the dense line of slot machines, and then to the tables.  I hung back when she sat down at a blackjack table, and calmly handed in some cash for chips.

I took up residence at a slot machine that blocked her from view, and vice versa, except when I craned my head slightly to see her, which I did about once a minute, to be sure she didn’t move.

And she didn’t.  Not for hours.  Two, at least, that I was sure of, because I sat there and watched her for that long.