Page 17 of Obeying the Owner

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you. I have a habit of being direct.”

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “No apology needed, and your directness is appreciated. I’m new to this.”

“This being…?” I ask, prompting her to be more specific.

“Finder. Meeting up with a stranger.”

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me what motivated you to download the app.”

“I haven’t had sex in a long time,” she says, laughing.

I smile at her candor. “It’s been longer than I’d like to admit for me too.”

She tips her head, studying my face with skepticism lacing her expression.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m serious.”

She rolls her eyes. “You expect me to believe you’re not getting laid regularly?”

“Between my long hours and my daughter, I don’t have much time for frivolous pursuits. I’ve reached the point where my quiet time is minimal. When I have a moment alone, the last thing I want to do is be around another person.”

“That’s understandable. But if that’s true, why are you here?”

“I miss connecting with a woman. And I’ve been thinking one night would be better than nothing.”

“So, we go back to your place and…” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“That works for me. How do you feel about it?”

She traces a fingertip over the mug’s handle. “I like that plan.”

“Do you want another Moscow mule, or do you want to get out of here now?”

“You’ve barely touched your gin and tonic,” she points out.

I shrug. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Me neither, but I will finish every last drop.” She raises her drink and swallows down the remainder. “Here’s to liquid courage,” she says, setting the mug down purposefully.

Standing, I move to pull her chair out as she rises. “I’ll pay the bill, and we can go.”

She reaches into her purse. “Wait, let me give you some money.”

I place my hand on her arm, and her eyes meet mine. “Please, let me take care of it.”

Her lips curve in a soft smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

I close out the bill, sign the receipt, and return to her side. “We’re all set.” Placing my palm in the center of her lower back, I usher her toward the elevator. The ride down seems endless when it only takes a matter of seconds.

When the door opens, I take hold of her hand and squeeze quickly, shouting over the music, “I don’t want to lose you.”

She squeezes back, smiling at me.

As we maneuver through the crowds of people gathering near the bar, I’m unsure which is pounding harder, my heart or the techno beat pumping through the sound system.

Exiting through the front doors, we step outside into the fresh air. The usual city sounds seem quiet compared to the cacophony we left behind.

“Where did you park?” I ask.

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