Page 16 of Plum

“I get it. You want to rescue me from all this.”

I gesture around the room which is actually super-clean and decently furnished. I’ve definitely worked in worse.

“Maybe you feel guilty ‘cause your cousin clocked me.”

“Stepbrother.”

Whatever. “But I’m good. I’ve got a man. He takes real good care of me. Like I said, I got a house. I’m putting myself through school.” Total lie. You couldn’t pay me to go back to school. “You don’t have to feel responsible. It’s all good.”

I give him my best, believe-the-bullshit smile.

He sighs, and his shoulders relax. He moves his hands to cup my face. This is where he gently kisses my lips and leaves with a smile, reassured that he’s a good guy and all’s well with the world.

He brushes his lips across mine.

“Bullshit,” he says.

Wha—?

“You don’t have a boyfriend. You’re not going to school. You have a house, but you’re in arrears on the taxes. You owe several thousand on your Visa, and you’re two months behind on your car payment. They’re going to repo that, by the way. You might want to stop parking in front of your pretty yellow house.”

Oh. Fuck.

He’s gonna make me into a skin suit.

“Aus—!”

His hand slams over my mouth. “I want you to go to dinner with me, Jo-Beth Connolly. Saturday night.”

He waits, as if I can answer with his enormous meat paw clasped over half my face. I try to sink my teeth into it, but damn, his grip is solid.

Eventually, after I mumble awhile, he figures it out and lowers his hand. Good thing my shoes are already off. If he makes one wrong move, I’m punching him in the junk and running, and I’ll get away, too. I can haul ass barefoot.

“I’m not going to dinner with you, stalker.”

“Twelve hundred eighty-four dollars.”

Twelve—Holy hell. That’s my tax bill.

“And eleven cents,” I add under my breath.

“Is that a yes?”

“Why?” I know he’s not going to come out and say so he can kidnap me and keep me in his basement, but hey. I’m gonnaask.

It takes him a long time to answer. “Because you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone I miss.”

“A kickass bitch, then?”

“So kickass.” That sad smile’s back, but I ain’t going down that rabbit hole. This is extortion or blackmail or some such shit, and it’s gonna take more than an hour in the way back to give me Stockholm Syndrome.

“I want to go someplace really,reallynice.Expensivenice.”

“Of course.”

“And you’re paying.”

“Naturally.”

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