Page 13 of Audiophile

“That’s even worse. I can’t believe you knew. You can’t tell anyone. I won’t live it down,” she says, but she’s still laughing. She’s so goddamn sweet. Could the notebook belong to someone else?

I fidget in my seat, rethinking my plan. I don’t want to tell her about the notebook. If it is hers, I don’t want her to feel violated, the way I do. She already thinks of me as Daddy Knight, which makes the mask the easy answer. Maybe if she gets angry with DK, it won’t hurt as much.

Maybe he can take on all my worst traits, and leave Reed good, whole, and untainted.

I want to be rid of my parasite.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I reassure her. Multiple secrets. I’ll carry her words to my grave, because I shouldn’t have seen them in the first place. I stall by reaching for the book she’s reading, and slide it across the table to read the title. “Fantasy? Interesting. I’d pinned you for smutty romance.”

“How one-dimensional of you,” she scolds, crossing her arms. “My vagina doesn’t dictate every facet of my life.”

An elderly woman pushing a cart toward the exit pauses behind Petra, and I can’t hide my amusement. “Want to say that a little louder?”

Petra whips around, her dark hair swishing, and swivels back with wide eyes. Some listeners get shy and avoid eye contact, some thank me for boosting their confidence, and others want to see if the sex is as good as the audio. But Petra is something else—affected but laughing about it. Bold, wry, self-conscious. I should feel bad for the ocean of embarrassment she’s wading through, but I don’t.

She makes me smile. When was the last time that happened?

“Oh my God. I’m a walkingdisasteraround you,” she groans. Unfortunately, that makes two of us. “People are going to assume I slept with some guy who was in town for a day—”

I flip to the end of her book, avoiding her eyes. The premise is great, but I want to know the ending before I jump in. “Two days now, technically.”

She leans in to whisper, “And Mrs. Fitzgerald will lecture me about it, as though I’m not a grown-ass woman who can sleep with some hot guy when I want. And then she’ll pray for me!”

Some hot guy? She’s attracted to me—not DK, or my voice.

Surprise skitters through me, leaving heat in its wake. The attraction goes both ways. Even before I invaded her privacy, I noticed how gorgeous she is. She’s on the taller side for a woman, and all dark, warm colors and lush curves.

With this piece of the puzzle, Petra shifts from passing interest to outright fascination. I forget all about the notebook. My past ceases to exist, my nerves disappear, and the prickling across my skin quiets. She moves all of it out of focus. I’m mesmerized by her pretty, woodland eyes, full mouth, and the small flecks of brown skin across her collarbone. How far do they travel below the cotton of her shirt?

“The more prayers the merrier, right?” I ask, leaning in until her face is inches away. Her breath hitches, and the vulnerability in her calls to me. A foolish, chaotic part of me wants to close the space between us. To see how she’d react to a single kiss. To pick her apart and discover how all her pieces fit together.

She drops her head into her hands. “It’s not funny.”

My fingers slip under her chin to lift her face. I don’t want her to die of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should talk somewhere else.”

“What?” Her voice is barely a squeak. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I don’t know you.”

“What if I want to know you?” I graze her chin with my thumb, and it steadies me. No more tapping or bouncing. She swallows,her eyes so wide that I can see the bits of green and gold clearly among the soft brown.

I have rules: Only trust my family. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t tell anyone who I am. Don’t tell anyonewhereI am. Don’t stay in one place too long. No social media, and no sleepovers.

Getting to know her breaks three of those.

I’m doubly surprised when she doesn’t push me away, and I force myself to drop my hand. “What is it?” she asks quietly, her eyes raking over my face like I’m an open book.

The truth sits on the tip of my tongue.I stole your notebook because I let my worst fears get the better of me. Because I wanted to see how you tick. Because I needed to know if you were a threat. I read things I shouldn’t have, and then nearly trashed it because I was ashamed.

I pull the small pad from my coat pocket and slide it across the table to her.

And I lie.

“I think this is yours. It was in my grocery bag, so you seemed the most likely candidate.”

“Oh.” Her gaze pierces me, but she doesn’t make a move to take it. “Did you read it?”

I swiped it with the explicit intention to.I shift under her attention and search for something remotely true. “A little. I realized it was personal, and I stopped.”

She flips to the last page, reminding herself what she wrote. Her whole body changes, and I watch her fade into a husk. Her written words overwhelm her, and the light goes out of her eyes. Damn it. So much for hoping it wasn’t hers. “Thank you for returning it to me.”

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