Page 12 of Once Upon A Sale

Unknown number: Exactly. Let’s remedy that, shall we?

I’m full on blushing, which is…what the fuck?

Staring at the phone, I’m not sure what to say. On the one hand, I’ve got Logan here ready for a quickie, but also…this guy makes my body buzz with anticipation, which hasn’t happened in a long fucking time. Without wasting time, I save his name in my phone so I’m better prepared next time he texts me.

Rhett: Quit thinking about it and give me your address.

Me: You think I’m going to give you my home address? Are you insane?

Rhett: So that’s a yes?

Me: Where, in any of what I’ve said, did you get that impression?

Rhett: The hint is in what you haven’t said.

I don’t even know what that means, but fuck me, I’m as curious as a cat and willing to take the risk.

“Who are you texting?” Logan is suddenly looking over my shoulder and I’m not sure how much he’s seen when I hide the screen.

“No one.” Fuck, I sounded so guilty just then.

“Hmm, I’m guessing I need to find another date for next Saturday?” Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on my neck and whispers, “I’ll call you later in the week, Sunny. Be careful.” When he steps back, I turn and smile.

“Always am.” With a pointed look at the screen, he’s silently telling me that he’s read some of the messages and that he knows I’m full of shit. There’s nothing safe about anything that I do.

When I look back at the couch, I realize he’s finished his coffee and eaten two of the cookies. Damn, how long did I ignore him?

“Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“You’re awesome, you know that?” I smile because he really is a fucking gem.

“Yup, and one day I hope I’m awesome enough for you.”

Biting my lip to avoid lying, I tilt my head to the side and stare at him. We’ve never delved into feelings, this has always been about sex, but as I really look at him I realize…he’s been holding out. And now I feel fucking guilty.

Throwing his head back, he laughs then shakes his head like it’s all fun and games, but I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers just a little longer than usual or how his shoulders slump slightly as though the answer is weighing on him.

Then he leaves, and as the door clicks shut, my phone pings once again.

It’s just a phone number. Local.

Rhett:Ball’s in your court, sweetheart.

It’s not like me to chase men, or even have the urge to look for anyone. I’ve got everything I need in the people I trust the most. My father made sure my trust issues would be deeply rooted in me.

I mean, what happens when you find out that your entire fucking life is a lie? Well, you tend to step away from relationships until they’re proven by the test of time.

Raising my head, my eyes land on the statue at the center of the useless fireplace. It was commissioned by my father as a gift for my mother. When she died, I found it in her private quarters, hidden in the closet with a black robe over it.

It’s a woman, bound by the wrists and tears falling down her cheeks. The expression on the statue’s face isn’t one of a sub enjoying her bondage play.

It’s the face of a woman in agony. A woman at the precipice of her sanity and begging to jump off to end the pain.

It’s the face of a slave. My father’s bought and paid for slave, and I’m the result of twenty years of rape.

Yeah, I’ve got trust issues.

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