Page 57 of You Rock My World
Josie points a finger at me. “Don’t you dare.”
She props her phone against something as she makes coffee and butters toast. I wedge the phone between my bent knees and eat my yogurt as we chat.
“What are you doing today?” I ask.
“Whine on the couch all day about not being able to see you?” Josie shrugs. “You?”
“Same.” I lick off the spoon. “This may sound paranoid, but can I ask you to do something for me?”
She sips her coffee, scrunching her face. “I have no idea what you’re about to ask.”
“Nothing terrible. But I’d like you to bring your car to a shop and have them install darkened windows. If it’s okay, I’ll arrange everything.”
“Why?”
“If Billie has someone watching the house, it’s the only way your car can come and go from my place without anyone knowing if you’re in it.” I take a sip of juice. “Otherwise, if the rest of the team leaves and you stay behind, they’d notice.”
Josie pulls a face. Good, bad? I can’t tell.
“Too much?” I ask.
She shifts in her seat. “Can I make a confession?”
“Sure.”
“All this spy-movieness is turning me on. Not the Billie thing, of course. But the sneaking around is hot.”
I smile. “Do I get extra points if I start using code names?”
“You don’t need extra points.” Josie turns shyer as she adds, “You’ve been back in my life only for a week, and I don’t know how I survived the last year without you.”
“Spotify?” I joke despite the heat flaring in my chest.
Her face gets emotional before she crumples, laughing. “You have no idea.” Her eyes get shiny and she does that rapid blinking thing. I can’t tell if she’s about to joy-cry or just-cry. “It’s so accurate, it’s not even funny.”
“I know.” I sigh. “Let me arrange with the auto-shop. I’ll send you the details.”
She toys with the neckline of her sweatshirt, letting it drop off one shoulder. “So it’s definitely camera off during the shower?”
I fix the camera and sing a line from one of my songs.
“Your breath on my skin leaves scars.”
Her eyes go saucer wide, and her blush is glorious even through the screen. “That’s—that’s below the belt.”
“Blame the muse.” I use my “seduction voice,” as she calls it. “She’s very inspirational.”
“Alright, I’m off to, uh… cool down. Talk later. Byyyeee.”
She hangs up before I can reply. I toss the phone aside and sling an arm over my eyes, unable to stop grinning.
Mid-afternoon, she sends me a picture of her standing in front of her car with newly tinted windows at the repair shop. She’s in a silly bodyguard pose despite her milkmaid dress: dark shades on, arms crossed over her chest, serious expression.
I trace her silhouette on the screen and am even jealous of the mechanic who must’ve taken the picture.
As I stare at the image, my heart turns into a glowing flare that sputters out too fast as I remember why she’s there. This isn’t the life I want for her—sneaking around, looking over her shoulder, hiding behind tinted glass. She deserves better.
But I’d do anything to keep her safe, to allow us to be together.
