Page 103 of David's Proposal

I walk out of the shower and run a towel over my body before scooping up my phone from the vanity.

His messages pop up the moment I swipe the screen.

David: A car will pick you up in twenty minutes. Wait for me at the motel.

What?

What is he talking about?

I check the time. He sent them twenty–five minutes ago.

Running my fingers through my wet hair, I hold the towel against my chest and run to the front door.

I peek outside.

A black car is stopped in front of my place.

“Uh…”

I look around.

This is completely unexpected.

“Motel? What kind of motel…” I murmur, heading to the bedroom. “Oh, motel… We’re doing it. We’re fucking doing it.”

I completely forget about Chloe as I scour the closet for something appropriate for the motel.

At first, I want to dress plain and dull. And then I remember that we’re role–playing.

Motel, motel… There’s a reason we are meeting at the motel. Two actually. He wants to get out of his world and also give me a taste of something else.

Let’s he how it goes.

I’m tired, but not that tired not to pull out a club dress from inside one of the moving boxes.

Good thing the fabric has a bit of give.

I pull it straight onto my naked body, slide my heels on, and click–clack my way to the bathroom.

My hair is still wet.

I blow dry my hair and give it a lot of volume. I only have time to apply red lipstick, grab my phone, keys, and a cropped denim jacket, and run out the door.

“This is so fucking eighties,” I mumble, locking the door.

Denim, a club dress, and high heels.

The lights come on––patient man, the driver––when I head to the car.

He doesn’t walk out to open the door for me, so I have to do it myself.

He doesn’t greet me either, and I wonder for a second if David’s message is enough to consider myself safe with this man.

The car pulls away and that’s it.

This is me living a dangerous life.

Nothing suggests I’ve been kidnapped. Although leaving my town doesn’t make me feel less stressed out.

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