Page 10 of Release Me

“Give. Me. Your. Number. Nadia.”

I’m about to say no again, but the word dies on my lips when I lose another person to Reid’s line and he shoots me daggers. An exasperated sigh is the first sign of my surrender, but Desiree sees it for what it is. She lets out a cheerful whoop as I snatch a piece of blank receipt paper from the end of the roll and scrawl the number to the flip phone I only bought because every job application I filled out required me to be reachable by something other than email. When I hold the paper out to her, allowing my disdain to show on my face, she doesn’t look the least bit remorseful about holding me hostage.

“Thank you,” she says, pulling out her wallet and tucking the scrap of paper inside for safe keeping.

“Cash or card?” I ask, hoping the third time is the charm.

The sleek black metal of her card gleams underneath the ambient lighting coming from above, and every patron standing in line, including the diaper creep who has apparently lost interest in Desiree’s curves, lets out a sigh of relief.

Desiree blinds us all with a triumphant grin. “Card.”

It takes her two days to call me, and when she does I’m curled up in bed eating a cup of noodles and fuming about handing every dollar of my paycheck over to the greedy ass owner of this shit hole I’ve been living in. The sound of my phone ringing is so foreign, it causes me to jolt, making the piping hot liquid spill over onto my hand.

“Shit!” I hiss, and it’s half pain, half annoyance because I know the only person responsible for bringing chaos into my afternoon of moping is Desiree’s annoyingly gorgeous ass. And in true nuisance fashion, she lets the phone ring and ring and ring until I finally pick up.

“Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily did you?” She asks by way of greeting.

“Of course not, Desiree. I’ve already accepted that nothing is ever easy with you.”

We’ve only spoken three times, but we’ve already established a catty rapport that’s more comfortable than it should be. Desiree seems to be comfortable in it too, which is good considering how pushy she’s been about us being whatever it is we are.

She laughs, introducing yet another alien noise to the quiet of my space. I think it’s probably the first joyful sound these four walls have heard since I started existing inside them. How sad.

“I only make things hard when you don’t do what I want you to.”

“Sounds like a line you’ve used on one of your clients.”

“I haven’t yet, but maybe I should.”

“Maybe.” With the phone tucked between my cheek and shoulder, I lean back against the pieces of cardboard that pass for pillows in this place. “So, what’s up? What do you want from me today? My social security number?”

“No, just your eyes.”

“My eyes?” Stale air rushes into my mouth as my jaw falls open. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Where are you staying? I’ll come pick you up and explain over lunch.”

There’s no way in hell I’m giving this girl my address. She just told me she wants my eyes, and although nothing about her suggested she was involved in organ trafficking, I don’t know her well enough to be sure.

“Girl, I’m going to need a few more details before I give you my address.”

“Details?” She asks, a hint of offense in the word. “What kind of details?”

I pull my legs up to my chest, feeding the sudden urge to shield myself from a threat that’s not even present. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the kind of details that tell me why you’re asking for my eyes.”

“Relax, Nadia, I’m an escort not some shady surgeon looking to sell your organs on the black market.”

A dry snort escapes me. “You do realize we’re practically strangers right? I don’t know you from a can of paint.”

“You knew me well enough to give me your phone number.”

“You coerced me into giving you my number.”

I can practically hear her nonchalant shrug over the phone. “Semantics.”

“Are you always this exhausting?”

“Only when people insist on fighting me on every little thing.”

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