Page 26 of Damaged

“I went to find a bathroom in the middle of the night. It was super dark. I must’ve thought this was my bed. I swear I’m not a psycho.” I try to laugh but fail. I also fail to not sound crazy. I’m talking at a mile a minute.

He stretches like this is no big deal. He is an expert at making people feel comfortable when they’ve fucked up, I’ll give him that. “It’s a bit of a maze, I’ll admit. And I do keep it dark.”

“It’s like the Bat Cave.”

“It’s notthatdark,” he teases, like maybe thiswasn’tan accident on my part, and then he gets up out of bed as casually as if we dated. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and I can still see the bulge of his length. I don’t dare let my eyes linger there, but they do get stuck on his abs.

They fit into each other like razor-sharp puzzle pieces. Above is his broad chest and the long sexy clefts above his collar bones.

I should get someone to sculpt him. I wouldn’t mind having an entire James Callaway collection at the gallery. I don’t care if the era isn’t classic—the lean, muscled look sure is.

He puts on a pair of sweatpants, and his abs flex as he does, showing their jagged geometry. “You don’t work today, do you?”

I’m embarrassingly slow to speak. What did he say? I’m busy staring at his body. “No,” I finally say. I still can’t bring myself to get out of his bed.

“Okay. Tomorrow there’s going to be a meeting at the gallery. It’s about our next focus in terms of collections.”

“Oh, so thingsarechanging?”

“You could say that. My ownership is going to come with an influx of new purchases. I didn’t buy it to keep the status quo.”

“That’s not what you said in your speech.”

“With sudden news, you don’t want anybody getting scared. You bring change on subtly. Slowly. Art majors scare easy.”

“Hey, I’m an art major.”

“Case in point.”

“What makes you think I’m a scaredy cat?”

“Um… you’re sleeping in my bed.”

“Because you Hulk smashed my door. You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman. No one is after your ass, James.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says and tilts his head with a grimace, like he’s had some incidents.

He’s right about that, I realize. I’m sure a man as rich and handsome as him gets some inappropriate attention fromwomen, but the power dynamic simply isn’t the same. I try to explain it.

“Okay, so if the craziest girl you know lived in this building, would you sleep with your door wide open?”

“Fuck no.” His eyes flash like he’s picturing what might happen to him if he did, and then he tells me, “I’d wake up in a tub of ice, castrated.”

“So imagine every woman could be a threat to you like that, because that’s how we have to think of men.”

James squints. “Sounds awful.”

“It is.” I nod. “So don’t call me a scaredy cat.”

“Fine. You’re not a scaredy cat.”

“But speaking of which…” I look around the bedroom as if Steve might be here. “I have to find my cat.”

“And I’ve got to get dressed for work. It’s late.” He nods at the clock, which reads 6:33. “Your door is probably being fixed already.”

“Thanks.”

“Least I could do. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.” James goes into the bathroom and starts the shower. This seems to be my dismissal.

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