Page 51 of The Love Bandits

So maybe I should have enjoyed myself without considering the consequences—but a voice in my head had objected, loudly. Because I’dneverbeen so out of control with a man. Truthfully, I’ve barely ever been out of control with a man, other than a few wild days in college. And if I fell apart around his fingers, I probably would have had sex with him. My logical side insists itwould be colossally poor decision-making to sleep with the thief who’s a sort-of prisoner in my home. And, yes, dangerous things are inherently exciting, but the Jake situation has expanded beyond myself. Other people are involved, like Nicole and Damien. Even Claire and Declan and Rosie, living right next door.

When Nicole and Damien come in, Nicole shouts, “Honey, we’re home!” They act like it’s no big deal that they went off on an errand that should have taken twenty minutes, tops, and were gone for well over an hour. Then again, it’s hardly the first time this has happened. They’re not people who like to be bound by rules and schedules.

Neither are you, a voice deep inside of me whispers.

They lock Jake’s keys into a drawer to which I possess the key and then get settled on the couch, Nicole practically in Damien’s lap. I explain my decision to leave Jake’s door unlocked, and why. I do not, obviously, admit that he finger-fucked me in the kitchen. Nicole’s mouth quirks with obvious amusement.

“You don’t think that sexy son of a bitch is playing you like a fiddle? You have a habit of lying to each other.”

Is it possible? He did somehow turn things around from being locked in his room to finger-fucking me in the kitchen. My mind rewinds to the way Jake reacted to being in the locked room, to the absolute desperation in his voice, therat in a glue trapexpression in his eyes.

That was real. Or at least I think it was. One of the legacies my parents gave me is that I can never know for sure.

“No, I don’t think he was pretending. There must be some—”Trauma, I think but don’t say. Pretend therapist or not, I don’t think he’d like me talking about him like that. “History there.”

“Maybe he’s been arrested previously,” Nicole says, looking way too happy about the potential arrest record of our houseguest. “That would make it easier for us to find him and the brother.”

“Maybe,” I agree, but I don’t really believe it. Being locked up would make anyone’s skin itch, but this was different. This was primal. “Either way, I don’t think it’s necessary for us to keep it locked. We want him to cooperate, and he seems willing.” I clear my throat. “He told me a little more about his history. ”

My mouth feels dry as I share what he told me about his brother’s kidnapper and the old man with the watch. It feels wrong to share his story, but he must have known I’d tell them, right?

Also, I can tell from the way Nicole and Damien are eyeing each other that they don’t buy it. It’s a good reminder that he might have been lying to make himself look better. For all I know, he’s a very active thief who doesn’t even have a brother

“His name is Jake, and his brother’s name is Ryan,” Nicole says, holding my gaze.

“That’s what he told me,” I agree.

“Jake Ryan,” she muses. “That’s the name of the fuck boy in that eighties movie. What’s it called?Pretty in Pink?”

“Sixteen Candles,” Damien says with the sigh of a man who’s been forced to watch eighties’ movies and apparently retains them better than the one who did the forcing.

“You think he made it up,” I say, my gut churning, my body still aching from the almost orgasm.

“Eh, maybe,” Damien says with a shrug. “It’s not the most obvious cultural touchstone for a thirty-something man.”

Nicole snort-laughs, nudging him with her shoulder. “You loved it.”

“No, I did not,” he says, smiling back at her. “But I do love you.”

I sigh loudly, depressed by their love and devotion, even though it proves that itispossible for a person to meettheir match. That not every relationship is about one person controlling the other, or both people pretending to be someone they’re not. “So, basically we have no way to be certain whether any of this is true until you find something. Or don’t find something.”

“Sounds about right,” Damien says.

I think again of that look Jake gave me when I opened his door, so desperate, like he was on the cusp of a panic attack—a wolf who’d bite off its own paw—and say, “I still want to leave his door unlocked. We’ll let him come and go, but we’ll keep an eye on him.”

Nicole and Damien exchange another look, and he gives Nicole a slight nod. She shifts her gaze to me and sits forward on the couch. “He’s your prisoner, Lainey. You can do whatever you like with him. You can sneak into his room and watch him sleep like that pervy vampire for all we care.”

Damien tousles her hair, his expression amused. “Let’s get you to bed before you piss Lainey off.”

“Too late,” I joke. Then, as they get up, I add, “You think you guys can find information about Jake and his brother?” What I really want to ask is whether they think his brother even exists, but I don’t want to admit to having doubt. “Will the watch thing help?”

“Maybe,” Damien puts in.

Eyes shining, Nicole adds, “We’ll find them, all right. We’ll find everything this guy has been trying to tuck away.”

I think of his request, of the package tucked beneath the floorboards in his bedroom.

I’d intended to tell them what I was doing, but Nicole will insist on looking at whatever’s inside that bag—and Iknowit’s precious to him. Those sketchbooks too. He wouldn’t want her flipping through them like they didn’t matter.

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