Page 127 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“I’ma head out,” I say. “Be back in a few. And don’t be in here snooping through my shit. If there’s something you wanna know, you can just ask me.I’man open book.”

She chuckles at that, watching me all the way to the door. “Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?” she says.

I turn to her, hiding my amusement. “You still ain’t learn how to read the room, huh?” I shake my head. “Don’t push your luck.”

34

Raya

Don’t push my luck?

Boy, fuck you.

I don’t need luck.

ClearlyI don’t, because I’m living in your house right now.

After he leaves, I finish cleaning the kitchen and start the dishwasher before retreating back upstairs to his bedroom.

I dive in the bed and roll around in the sheets for a while before I calm down and get my head back in the game.

This is serious.

Despite his parting words to me, I’m even closer to the ring than I was before. And I know that because I finally figured out his hook.

Ace has a hero complex.

It wasn’t enough to tell him the truth. I had to tell him myugliesttruths, the ones I’d hidden away in my deepest, darkest recesses. The ones I thought would make him leave me for good. But who would have thought hearing about my shitty past would make him like me even more?

And he saysI’mthe crazy one.

I bury my face in his pillow, inhaling his scent like I’m doing a whippet.

He doesn’t even know everything, which means I have an arsenal now. I can deploy my fucked up shit any time I need to.

This is good.

We aresoback.

“Hey.”

Ace nods upward, his greeting for me after a long day of work, I guess. Doesn’t look happy, but at least he’s home.

He drops his keys on the hall table, slamming his bag on the floor, kicking off his shoes and leaving them haphazardly where they land. As he makes his way over to the couch, he doesn’t even look at me.

He plops down on the other end and sighs loudly while I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

One of his moods.

He sits all spread out, limbs everywhere, taking up every inch of available space. His head falls back against the couch. His eyes drift to the ceiling.

“You okay?” I finally ask.

“Long day,” he mutters. “I’m frustrated.”

“Work stuff?”

He frowns. “Nah. You.”

---