Page 52 of Look My Way
“Baby?” Daniel tugs at my chin, snapping me out of my stupor.
“Yeah?”
“Just tell him to finish up next week. That you’re going out of town to visit your family or something.”
I jump in my seat. “Are we?”
“Well . . . no.” His face falls. “It’s just something you can tell him. He won’t know.”
“Oh.” My face dips and he tugs at it again.
“You know . . . if you really want to, we can drop by your sisters for a surprise visit when I get some time off work.”
“Really?” I beam.
“Really.” His lips bunch together and he presses them to my forehead, leaving behind a slight sting. It feels so wrong. It went from strange to nothing to wrong. His fingers slide down my arm and he pulls me up by my hand. My body isn’t a fan of that either, my stomach turning when he drags me close enough to wrap an arm around my waist. His hand palms my ass and my teeth clamp down as we enter the kitchen together.
“You have a nice day today?” He looks down at me, brushing hair from my face, but it isn’t supposed to be him doing that.
“Yeah.” I gently pull away, walking toward the stove to pull down two pans. “It was good. I finished reading over my book.”
“Ah yeah?” He whips his head back, holding his phone in his hand.
“Yup. Shouldn’t need many revisions.” Metal bangs against metal as I adjust everything on the stove, turning on one of the burners.
“So, you’re happy with it then?” he pipes back, tapping at his screen.
“I am,” I say, pride evident in my voice. Too happy. It’s because for once I’m getting to have all the things I’m usually envious of when I write my characters having them. It’s happening in my mind and outside my window, carrying over to my bedroom, and I want it to keep spreading. I want him everywhere. But what if he doesn’t want to be. I shake away thoughts of things Daniel has said in the past before they can come. Daniel could be wrong. It’s possible Zavier will want to stay.
But what if he doesn’t?
My hand squeezes the spatula and my teeth grind together as I try to not look bothered by the war taking place in my head. I reach for the cooking spray, clinking the can against the glass canister full of flour to drown out any sound my frustration may be forcing out of my mouth.
“That’s good. I’m sure everyone else will be too, and then Rick the dick can get off your case for once.”
“I won’t hold my breath on that one,” I huff out.
“Don’t worry. Karma will catch up to that asshole in due time.” His tone shifts to something sinister, and when I look back at him his expression is stone, his eyes distant. “I’m going to go wash up. As much as I love our shower time together, I don’t want to eat dinner too late, and you look tired.”
“I’m fine, but yeah, it’s better not to eat too late. We have lots of other days to share showers.”
“Yeah. A whole lot.” His lips turn up, eyes piercing into mine like a threat. That’s what it feels like. “We’ll be married soon and you’ll be seeing too much of me, so enjoy the breaks while you can.” He winks.
I fake a laugh, feeling a twisting sensation in my gut. We’re going to be married. I twist at my naked ring finger, then turn back to the stove, breathing in and out slowly.
When the bedroom door closes behind Daniel, I flit my eyes up, gaze aiming for the shed, as I stir the pasta in the pot of boiling water. My hand skirts its way to my groin, my fingers tracing over the growing bulge, as I see a flash of black in the yard moving quickly behind the trees lining the back fence. I didn’t leave him a message to come or highlight anything in my book tonight. I didn’t need to.
He knew to come already. Like he sensed me looking for him, my need to see him growing so desperate it was becoming hard to function—to feel strong enough.
Steam floats from the top of the pot and the shrimp sizzles in the pan as I pour it from the bowl. I add butter and seasoning, not tearing my eyes from the window. The black figure is still now, and there’s an adrenaline rush inside me.
I undo my pants and shove them down along with my underwear. Stepping out of both, I kick them away and add my shirt on top, a shiver coming over me as I stand naked in my kitchen. My gaze only leaves the man outside long enough for me to grab my apron from a hook in the pantry. The soft fabric tickles my skin and I slip it over my neck, dragging the ties around my back.
He’s in exactly the same spot when I return to the window. The top of the apron, a little too big, hangs loose around my chest, and one of my nipples hangs out. Cool air sweeps overit, pebbling the sensitive skin as I move around the kitchen, finishing up dinner.
Looking down to check if the shrimp is cooked causes me to lose track of where he goes. My yard is so empty without him standing in it. My chest aches when I keep searching every corner, coming up empty-handed. Where’d he go? Did he not like what he saw?
My insecurities wrap around my throat like a vise, and my breaths are cut short.
