Page 20 of Dancing With Distraction

Then I save his number under the name ‘Distraction’. I wait but no reply comes, so I send another.

Me: I’ve started my homework, but I’m stuck.

Distraction: List the things I cannot do.

Me: I have no boundaries but one. Do not come to my flat.

Distraction: Then spend the rest of the day researching to get an idea of what you might not be happy with.

Me: What do I search?

Distraction: Sadist. Masochist. BDSM.

I stare wide-eyed at the words. I get he’s a little kinky, but masochists and sadists, don’t they get off on pain? I open the search engine on my laptop and lose myself in research.

There’s a knock on my door and I glance up, realising my flat is now in darkness. I check my watch. It’s almost eight p.m. and my stomach grumbles like it’s just remembered I’ve not eaten a thing all day.

I open the door to find Phoebe. “Why’s the door locked?” she asks, following me inside.

I shrug, not wanting to tell her too much about Dmitry just yet. Not until I’ve cleared up my concerns about her and Marcus.

“You were avoiding my calls last night and today,” she says, flopping down on the bed. “Did you even go to work?”

I can’t tell her I called in sick because my thighs were too sore, or that I went a little crazy and turned up to teach Dmitry a lesson, so I opt for short and simple. “Nope, I was ill, but I’m feeling much better now. Fancy grabbing a bite to eat?”

She nods, watching as I pull on some leggings and remove my skirt. After replacing my vest top with a button-down shirt, I run a brush through my hair. “I need to stop by Kat’s.” She groans. “To pay my bill,” I say before she can protest. “I got paid today, and thanks to Mr. Rich buying all those suits, my commission was amazing.”

“How much do you owe him?”

I shrug. “He hasn’t told me yet. I’ll write a cheque.”

We opt for food first, which gives me the perfect opportunity to speak to her about my dick of a brother. Once the waitress has taken our food order, I take a breath before casually stating, “So, you and Marcus seem to be getting on well.”

It throws her, and her smile falters. “He’s just worried about you.”

“Why?”

She chews on her lower lip. “I guess because sometimes you can be a little . . . wild.”

I frown. “How would he know that?”

“He’s your brother.”

“Foster brother,” I correct, “and he doesn’t know me at all, which is how I like it.”

She claps her hands together and leans closer. “I’m sensing a problem.”

“Don’t do that,” I hiss. “Don’t try to make me feel like I’m the issue. I’ve told you before to be careful around him, he’s not all he seems.”

“All I see is him caring about his sister . . . foster sister,” she quickly corrects. “And I think it’s sweet. The guy changed his whole life to be here for you.”

I scoff. “Is that what he told you?”

“And I know your parents really appreciate him doing that.”

I scowl. “They don’t actually give a fuck about either of us, Phoebe. Did he tell you that too?”

“He speaks to them weekly.”

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