Page 52 of Unexpected Hero

Gulp.

I wonder what my fantasies are. Beyond actually letting a man touch me below the waist without feeling like a whore, slut, pile of trash, sinner who’s hopping an express shuttle to the fiery pits of hell.

Thanks for that, Mama.

Where to begin my research? I’m too terrified to search my phone for this without guidance. Stella will help.

Me

Hypothetically, if someone was curious about BDSM, what would you tell them to read?

My phone rings three seconds later.

It’s her. No way.

I answer in a haughty tone. “Well, if it isn’t little miss hypocrite breaking the phone call rule no more than two days after guilt-tripping the shit out of me. That really dills my pickle.”

Stella ignores my jab entirely. “Why do you want to learn about BDSM?”

“I didn’t say it was me. If you refer to the transcript of our conversation, you’ll see that it was a hypothetical inquiry.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” She tsks at me, clicking her tongue four times in rapid succession. “Tell me why you want to know about kink. You’ve never wanted to talk about it before.”

I clear my throat while contemplating my best course of action. Tell the truth and cause her to worry? Or fib a little and have the guilt?

Fucking guilt. I can’t take much more. I’m full to the brim.

“So I got a call from James a few minutes ago.”

I pause for dramatic effect because she deserves it after calling me.

On. The. Phone.

“Fuck. While we’re still young, Lettie. I’m going to start plucking gray hairs if you don’t speed it the hell up.”

I chuckle, then spit it out. “He said he had a job for me. Actually, scratch that. He said he had a proposition for me. An employment opportunity.”

“And?”

“He’s coming to pick me up at eight tonight for supper, and he’ll explain everything then.”

When she speaks again, she sounds annoyed and overdramatic, which is exactly how I prefer her. “I’m starting to fear you ain’t got the good sense God gave the goose. Poor dolt.”

My phone alerts a second later with her attempt to switch to a video call.

When I accept, she’s shaking her head at me. “Do you have any idea how dating works, Lettie? Or general human interaction?”

Her words draw an involuntary response from me. I raise my straight-edged hand to the side of my forehead in a salute. “General human interaction, reporting for duty.”

“Walked into that one,” she jokes. “But do you know how people work at all? Do words comprehend for you?”

“Not really, no,” I tease back.

“Just because he’s taking you to eat and has a lead on a job, it doesn’t mean he’s into BDSM. Why would you even think that? Have you switched from clean Regency to a tawdrier genre like the shit I read? Do I need to monitor the activity on your e-reader? Don’t tempt me.”

By the time she’s done with her little rant, we’re all out laughing together.

I wish she had moved here with me. But I couldn’t ask her to leave her whole life just because I needed to go. Part of my reason for moving is to prove I can do it on my own. So my little heartsick musings about my friend will have to kick rocks.

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