Page 21 of Audiophile

“Maybe.” He retreats with achuckle.

Though I’m tired, I don’t want to miss a minute of this. Reed stays awake too, and our light, uncomplicated conversation is a balm on my lonely heart. “Favorite color?” I ask.

“Yellow.”

“No one’s favorite color is yellow.” I giggle in the dark. “Be real.”

“It’s yellow. And green, too. Yours?”

I wrinkle my nose to keep my smile hidden. “Cream.”

“Aren’t you a witty one?” Reed teases. There’s a smile in his voice.

We talk for hours. By the time Reed falls asleep and dawn turns the sky pink, I’m sober. I slip out of his arms and pad quietly to the bathroom to change into my clothes. Impulsively, I grab the notepad on the desk on my way out.

Reed, I appreciate you not pushing it. If you ever want to change careers, you have the natural talent to be a professional cuddler. Thank you for holding me when I needed it most. When I didn’t even know to ask for it.

Enjoy your trip,

Petra

I gather up my purse and grimace at the two empty bottles of wine. I ache to take the bouquet, but it will prompt too many questions. I leave it behind and creep down the stairs to the lobby, praying no one is watching.

God ignores me—because I’mnota nun—and Tina’s working the front desk. I’ve known her since grade school, and she couldn’t keep her mouth shut then or now. She raises her eyebrows at me with a smirk. “Morning, Petra.”

I hide my guilt and straighten up as I head for the doors. “Tina. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” she croons from behind me.

Well, shit.

Chapter nine

Reed

By the time Iwake, the midmorning sun shines through the gap in the curtains, making my head throb. The sheets are cold where Petra warmed them all night, but her lingering scent of sweets and oranges tugs at me. It’s so familiar, and though the memory is fuzzy, it aches to be rediscovered. “Petra?” I wait, holding my breath, but there’s no rustle of movement in the other room.

I didn’t see her coming. Didn’t see any of last night coming. How did I go from being racked with guilt to aching to hold her? So much for swearing off sleepovers. She curled into herself at the mention of going home and lost the colorful pink in her cheeks. I couldn’t bear for it to go.

It was supposed to be just for her, but she’s what I needed in the dark. For a few hours, I was free.

My stomach protests as I drag myself into the kitchen, searching for water. I blink blearily at a piece of paper next to the flowers she left on the counter. Upon reading it, I swing from bewildered to annoyed.Enjoy my trip? The hell, Petra?She didn’t ask me to call her. Unless I misconstrued everything, she’s interested in me too. Petra is proof that not all fans are crazy. There are women who see the difference between who I am and what I do. It was miraculous that I felt safe enough to offer to share my bed. I broke my no sleepovers rule for her, and being brushed aside after being vulnerable irks me beyond reason.

Ridiculously, her dismissal makes her even more appealing. I bring the note to bed with me, deciphering her subtext.When I needed it most. For the second time, her words mirror those insideme. I didn’t know it, but I needed to be held just as much. Sex is a commodity right now, but she’s not buying or selling.

Ignoring all notifications from my social media, I download my old dating apps and change my location to Swift River. I swipe through photos, and I’m both confused and relieved when none of them are Petra.

The urge to turn my night with her into a tangible thing is undeniable. I’ve had zero desire for sex since that God awful day, but Petra sets me at ease. Her burning eyes—the sparks that fly when we touch—bring my long months of celibacy to an agonizing point. I pull out my laptop and start my first erotic script in ages.

I expect writing to be slow and painful, but the words pour out of me in a torrent. Instead of a faceless subject, it’s Petra that slowly strips off her clothes. She sits, naked and trembling, at a dinner table.

She’s got a daddy kink? I can work with that.

“You waited for me?” I ask as I walk through the door and set down my bag. “Aren’t you hungry, precious? You should be, since you spent all afternoon cooking for me. My good girl.”

“I enjoy taking care of you.”

I kiss her shoulder, and her little whimper sets my blood simmering. “I don’t see a dessert. Didn’t you make one for me, precious?”

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