Page 22 of Text Me, Take Me

Perversely, I hate thinking of him with other women. Models and actresses and whoever else threw themselves at his feet–they need to get in line. I run my hand through my hair, letting out a sigh. This line of thinking isn’t helpful.

He doesn’t want any of them, according to him. But I make him weak.

It shouldn’t make me feel special.

Itdoesn’tmake me feel special. I correct myself, but I’m not convinced.

The jail broken phone buzzes from the bedside table. I dart at it far too eagerly. It’s a text from the man himself.

Dom: I’m looking at photos of your jewelry again. Did you make these from scratch? The work is admirable.

“Is he serious?” I whisper. My thumbs moved angrily over the phone’s keyboard.

Evie: So, we’re just going to pretend like earlier never happened, then. Talk about my silly hobby as if I’m not your prisoner. We’re going to chitchat, Mr. Kidnapper, Mr. Mafia Man, Mr. SEAL, Mr. Billionaire… is that your grand plan?

Dom:

I stare in disbelief at the screen for what feels like a long time. Everything that’s happened – the fight, the kidnapping, the imprisonment, the steam – and he sends alaughing emoji.

Two can play at that game.

Evie:

He sends two emojis as his counterattack.

Dom:

Evie: This is getting juvenile.

Dom: When I saw all my credentials listed, it seemed funny to me. I can’t help that.

Evie: Funny because it’s all a lie?

Dom: No – it’s the truth. But it’s ridiculous.

Evie: You’re in awe of your own brilliance?

Dom: Brilliance was never what got me anywhere, Keepsake. Just grit.

A smile touches my lips, but then I quickly banish it. Maybe he thinks he can trap me with his charm as much as in this physical prison. I can’t let that happen.

Evie: Did you just call me ‘Keepsake’?

Dom: It seems appropriate. First, because your passion for jewelry is clearly more than ‘a little hobby’. These pieces are of excellent quality. They’re keepsakes people would be proud to own or give as gifts. And secondly, because YOU’RE a keepsake.

Another smile – another banishment.

Evie: I am NOT your keepsake, Warden.

Dom: Warden?

Evie: As in… PRISON Warden.

I swear to God, if he texts me something about needing to keep me safe or any of that repetitive stuff, I’m going to scream until this prison collapses around me.

Dom: When did you start making jewelry?

I look up at Meatball, half hoping he’s awake. I need to do some serious venting. My body is still tingling all over from the intimacy. I press my legs together as if to tell myself, no, I won’t go there. My plan failed; it’s time to move on.

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