Page 11 of Kept By the Loan Shark

“He’s not a creep,” I admonished. “He’s a good guy.”

Hagen grunted and pulled a trash bag from the box under the sink. “A good guy who is waiting for me to stumble so he can swoop in and steal you.”

“Like Amber?” I asked, letting the accusatory question slip out before I could stop it.

Frowning, Hagen stopped stuffing my wet clothes into the trash bag and leveled a strange look my way. “I don’t think she’s strong enough to pick me up and steal me.”

“Be serious, John.”

He set aside the bag and closed the distance between us. He put his hands on my shoulders and gazed down at me, his stare unwavering as he said, “I’m serious about you. I’m serious about us. I assume you saw that text message she sent last night.”

He wasn’t asking but I nodded. “I was plugging in our phones to charge when it popped up on the screen.”

“I told her not to contact me again. She was way out of line using my contact info to proposition me.” His hands moved from my shoulders to my neck and up to cup my face. “Cassie, you’re the only one I want.”

Closing my eyes, I stepped into him and rested my cheek against his chest. I slid my arms around his waist and held tight. His hand stroked down the length of my ponytail and then followed the curve of my back. It felt so good to lean on him, to be held in his arms. It felt right. It felt like home.

He kissed the top of my head. “Let’s get out of here, Tiny.”

Smiling at his silly nickname for me, I waited for him to gather up my laundry in one hand and my suitcase in the other. I slipped into my backpack, glanced around my apartment for any necessities I might have forgotten and trailed him out to the breezeway. After I locked the door, we made our way to our vehicles.

“We should do takeout tonight,” Hagen decided as I reached for my keys.

“Put the laundry in my car. I’ll drive it over and get it started while you grab something for dinner.”

“Sure.” He accepted my suggestion with a nod. “Chinese? Thai? Pho?”

“Something spicy,” I said, craving the bite and burn.

He boxed me in against my car and dipped down to brush his mouth over mine. “Drive safe. Text me when you get home.”

A frisson of excitement raced through me. Home. Our home. Together.

Traffic was light, for once, and I made it to Hagen’s house in record time. I pulled into the garage space he had given me and carried my laundry and suitcase inside. I separated my laundry into two loads and stuffed the first one into his gleaming front-loading washer, pressing the buttons on the dashboard that looked like something from a spaceship. Using his expensive, name brand detergent was an absolute luxury after years of buying the cheapest generic I could find.

I carried my suitcase upstairs to Hagen’s room. I wasn’t sure where to put my things so I decided to leave them in the suitcase for now. Later, after dinner, he could tell me which spaces were mine.

Back downstairs, I walked back into the garage and retrieved my backpack. I placed it on one of the stools in the kitchen and took out my plasma physics textbook, notebook and pouch filled with colored pens and highlighters. I opened the book to my last bookmark and neatly printed a title on the clean page of my notebook before I started reading. The upcoming lecture on electromagnetic waves in plasmas was one I had been looking forward to, and I wanted to make sure I had the reading done with enough time to work out any confusing bits before Dr. Symonds started teaching.

The sound of the side door opening interrupted my note taking. I glanced at the arched doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen and smiled at Hagen as he returned with bags crammed with takeout. Even before he reached the island where I sat, I caught the familiar and delicious scent of spicy Szechuan eggplant from our favorite Chinese restaurant. When my gaze landed on the pretty pink box from my favorite bakery—a place I only indulged every few months—I lit up with happiness.

Hagen laughed and set the box down in front of me. “I thought you agreeing to move in here was worthy of a cake.”

I peeked under the lid and gasped with excitement when I saw the fluffy, rich buttercream and sprinkles. “Birthday cake!”

He laughed even harder and noisily kissed my cheek. “Don’t ever change, Cass.”

“Do you mind if I finish my notes while we eat?” I didn’t want to be rude, but I was right in the middle of an equation.

“You don’t have to stop working on whatever the hell that is,” he said, gesturing to the equations I was carefully writing. “Derivation of dispersion relation?” He read my notes and shook his head. “Is that even English?”

I rolled my eyes and bumped his arm with my shoulder. “Stop. I’ve seen your math skills. I know you understand derivatives.”

“Maybe,” he replied cagily. He didn’t like to admit that his book smarts matched his street smarts, especially when it came to math. It was how he had been able to make so much money. He had a keen eye for risk and probability. “But that,” he pointed at my notes, “is way harder than anything I’ve ever done.”

“You could learn,” I remarked as I followed the equation to the next step. “I could teach you.”

“Yeah? What are your tutoring fees?”

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