Page 16 of Sinful Blaze

“There you go again.” Daphne sips her drink as she studies me. “One minute, you’re this laidback, kinda crude dudebro. The next, it’s like you just gave a cultural aesthetics lecture at Yale.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’m literate. I do read a lot.”

“War general biographies and porn magazines, I’m guessing.”

I chuckle. “Among other things.”

“Don’t tell me you’re picking up art history textbooks in your free time,” she replies. “I’d say you look like you should be the one on display, not the one studying it.”

“I’ll take the compliment.”

“Don’t act like I’m the first one to ever tell you you’re attractive, either,” she accuses. Then, straightening up: “So where did you go to college?”

I sigh. That’s a part of my life I try to pretend never happened. Though it did and was a few of the more precious years of my existence. I was far the fuck away from my family, from those responsibilities, from the never-ending shitshow that comes with being in a Family with a capital “F.”

“Yale.”

Daphne balks. “You’re kidding. I was joking when I said that, you know.”

“I’m not. Spent three years there. Never got to graduate, though.”

“How come?”

“Father died. Had to go back and help take care of the family.”

She nods like she knows exactly what I mean. Which is fair, if incorrect. I’m not exactly blasting through a megaphone that I’m in charge of a Russian mob family and my father, the former pakhan, was murdered by the people he fucked over.

I eye her again. Her face in the fluorescent diner lights, half-shadow, half-glowing. The curve of her jaw. Highlights gleaming in her hair from the red neon sign over the door.

It’s tempting to take her back to my place. There’s a part of me that wants to protect her from the world and give her sanctuary in my home, in my bed… but I have to shake it off. I remind myself of what I am—and, more importantly, what I am not.

I’m not her saving grace or her valiant prince riding in to save the day.

For all she knows, I’m just some guy who fucked her brains out, fed her.

In a few moments, I’ll be the guy who drives her home and then disappears, never to be seen again.

It’s better that way.

So as we pay and leave, I take advantage of the car ride to memorize this feeling. I linger where I shouldn’t. A few extra minutes to smell her vanilla perfume filling up my car. An unnecessary breath, just to hear her sigh with contentment as she settles into the leather passenger seat like she’s meant to be here, next to me, all along.

For a scant few minutes, we can pretend like there’s more to this than there really is. It’ll all be over soon enough. Might as well enjoy her while it lasts.

“That’s me,” Daphne says eventually, pointing through a window to a looming apartment building, a tall block of shadow in the night.

I nod and park. Kill the engine. The silence feels like a third person in the car with us.

Daphne stares out, fingers on the handle, though she doesn’t open the door yet. She turns and looks at me. “Thank you.”

“You gonna be okay?”

The question flies out of my mouth before I have a chance to even think it over. What do I care?

That stupid nagging sensation in my chest says, A whole fucking lot.

She sighs. “Yeah. Hazel’s good people. I’m safe here.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to leave. I don’t want her to leave, either. We both know it has to happen. We both know that once that car door closes behind her, this is it. Forever.

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