Page 54 of Mr. Wicked

Grayson

“Why the hell would you live all the way out here?” I asked Jovana as she climbed into the front seat of my car.

“All the way out here” was Somerville, a suburb fifteen minutes outside Boston that I never bothered going to. If I was going to leave the city, it was to go to one of its edges, like Cambridge, right near Harvard, and that was to grab some food I’d fallen in love with while in college.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be to see a woman—whether I hooked or fished her.

Jovana was becoming the exception to everything.

Damn it.

“Wow, that’s how you’re going to greet me?” She wrapped the seat belt around her. “No, ‘Hi, Jovana, you look nice tonight.’ Or, ‘Oh man, you smell terrific.’ Or, ‘I’ve missed you these last few days, it’s nice to see you.’”

The thing was, she looked exceptional in the tight red dress that hugged her amazing curves, and seeing her prance across the sidewalk on the way to my car in those sky-high heels had made every part of me ache.

That was the reason I’d dug on her the second she opened the door.

To get my mind in a place of annoyance rather than pleasure.

But I wouldn’t tell her that.

I wouldn’t say anything that would trigger a conversation that had even the smallest chance of turning emotional.

The last thing that needed to happen between us was some type of connection.

I shook my head. “Again, why the hell would you live out here?”

“Why?” She laughed as she settled in the seat, placing her small purse on her lap. “Because it’s semi-affordable, that’s why.”

I looked at the rows of apartment buildings. The convenience store on each corner, a nail salon, a Thai restaurant—all places she probably frequented, but in the city, the sidewalk between them would be packed, the road full of traffic.

Here, things were much quieter.

And there was no view.

Aside from her.

“You know,” she continued, “most people don’t make as much money as you. I mean, I sure don’t.” I watched her glance across the dashboard. “They don’t drive fancy cars like this. They work two jobs because they have to, like me, and they still have to decide which bills they’re going to pay since oftentimes they can’t afford to pay all of them in the same month.”

She knew nothing about me.

I wasn’t surprised.

My childhood wasn’t listed on my Wikipedia page.

For some reason, due to a feeling that came out of nowhere, I said, “Believe it or not, Jovana, I haven’t always been rich.”

“Have you forgotten the days when you weren’t?”

“Hardly.”

“Tell me about them. What did they look like? How did you live?”

I shifted into drive and pulled into the road that was far too lonely, gripping the steering wheel like the goddamn thing was about to fall off.

“Grayson . . .”

“What?”

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