Page 17 of Text Me, Take Me

Evie: Was this before or after you went digging into my past? Into my mom?

Dom: I’m sorry about your mother. Truly. She was far too young, and a car crash was no way to go.

Two police officers’ arrival at my door with the news devastated me. They think an animal ran into the road. The weather conditions made it so that when she slammed on the brakes, she skidded and crashed into a tree. Mom would never run over an animal, even if it meant sacrificing her own life.

“I don’t care about his condolences,” I tell a perpetually unconvinced Meatball. “Or his compliments. But if I’m going to get out of here, I need to play with him. I need to make him believe.”

When Meatball jumps off the bed and leaves the room, it’s the closest to ‘F you’ my kitty can get.

It doesn’t change the fact that this is a serviceable plan. Considering the position I’m in, serviceable is the most I can reasonably expect.

Evie: Thank you. I couldn’t believe it when the cops told me. She was the kindest woman I’ve ever known. They think an animal darted out in front of her and she slammed on her brakes… They said she should’ve run it over, but she was incapable of doing that. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself.

Dom: Sometimes, the ugly things are the most necessary.

Evie: It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re hinting at, Dom.

Dom: We’re going in circles, Evie.

He’s right, but it’s annoying he thinks he has any right to get bored with this conversation. That’s one tick in the douchebag column. I’m going to need way more of those if I want to have a chance against the ‘obsessed’ and ‘unreasonably interested’ column.

Evie: Seriously though, thank you for your kind words about Mom.

Dom: How long were she and Mason together?

Evie: I thought your contact would have told you that.

Dom: I can hear your sassiness even through a text. How does that work?

I smile, then quickly wipe it away.

“I shouldn’t care that he likes my so-called sassiness,” I say, then remember I’m speaking to an empty room. Somehow, talking to myself makes me feel crazier than talking to my cat.

It’s true. I shouldn’t like it. But the protective shield I put up against the world is the traits I’m proudest of. I’m a fighter, even when my only way to ‘fight’ is to run.

When I don’t answer, Dom goes on.

Dom: My contact found photos of them and some posts on social media, but no indication about how long they were together.

Evie: Long enough for me to hate Mason. Long enough for him to leave bruises on her beautiful skin. Long enough for me to fear him. Is that good enough for you?

Dom: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.

“He has no idea…” Dammit. There I go again. “Meatball, boy, please get in here.”

Meatball whines as he appears in the doorway.

“I know you’re tired, but momma is talking to herself like she’s lost what little sanity she had. If I’m going to be cuckoo, at least let me be a cuckoo cat lady.”

He jumps onto the bed with a distinct air of reluctance, curls into a ball, and closes one eye while keeping the other half-open to look at me.

“He does not know how silly that sounds. He doesn’t want toupsetme–but he can kidnap me. Nuts, right?”

Meatball purrs.

Dom: I know what you’re thinking. I don’t want to upset you… but I’ve taken you. I know that seems like a contradiction, but if I were to justify myself, it would mean more stuck-record talk.

He means he’d tell me, for the umpteenth time, that he’s doing this for my safety. Perhaps that’s true, but he admitted to something in the garage before he slipped his hand into my underwear, before he pushed his firm touch against my sex and made me sizzle all over.

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