Page 80 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“If so, sit at my table and tip me well.” He reached out to kiss me. “I’ve gotta go, though.”
“I’ll drive you to your place.”
“I’m only three blocks away. I’ll walk.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. You still look dead on your feet.” He took my mouth again, unhurried, tasting…teasing. “Mm. See you tonight.”
“Sure.” Since when did I go all warm and squishy over a kiss? “See you then.”
With another sly glance my way, he slipped outside and hurried off. I closed the door and leaned my forehead against it, willing my body to act like a mature adult. My body seemed to think that idea was overrated because when I stripped to my briefs, I was still hard.
In the bathroom light, I appeared paler than normal. I stifled a surprised gasp when I saw how Epic had marked my skin. He’d kept his word that he wouldn’t hurt me, and yet I had scratches on my back and love bites all over my chest. Bruises dotted my hips where Epic’s fingers had clutched at me. It was exciting, in a way, seeing how desperate we’d been for each other mapped out on my body like that.
I was still smiling when I tumbled between the crisp, clean sheets on the bed in the master bedroom. Second nap of the day—that had to be some kind of a record.
There was no doubt my body needed the sleep. I never slept enough. Only this time, my mind seemed not just resigned to the fact but more than willing to let go. In no time, I drifted like a baby in a Moses basket along the currents of mostly nice dreams about my fake boyfriend, Epic.
Epic, I decided, was the nicest dream of all…
* * *
I woke at dinnertime.Since I didn’t feel hungry, I decided to create an office of sorts at the kitchen table. I brought in my laptop and set up a printer. I don’t know which of the tech giants first decided that paperless was the way to go, but I liked making notes on paper. I doodled and scribbled. If I printed out an article, then I could clip it to other articles. At the office, I had what my workmates referred to as a “wall of crazy” to link my ideas together.
I’d tried using many different mind mapping software apps, but in the long run I’d watched too many detective shows. I liked a white board with pictures and colored markers, and failing that, I made do with any handy wall, painter’s tape, and yarn. But Epic had a point about decompression sickness. I got a headache when I tried to wade in as if I’d never been away.
I spent the afternoon rereading my notes and reacquainting myself with several news stories I’d been watching. From 1980 to 2012, a staggering sixteen percent of female homicides in Canada were indigenous women and girls, even though they represented only four percent of the entire Canadian population. Native American women were murdered every year in the US at an equally high rate per capita.
Many of these women and girls were being lured into a lifetime of drugs and sex trafficking, if not outright kidnapped and beaten or tortured into it, only to be thrown away like garbage if they were too rebellious, or strung out, or sick to be profitable.
There were grassroots organizations attempting to publicize this fact, but marginalized people got little traction. You had only to look at the cases of LaToyla Figueroa and Natalee Holloway to see where the media put its attention.
When StolenLives went after traffickers, I liked to believe we were doing something positive before the fact, not after. But for every trafficker we caught, every pornographer or sexual slave trader, there were ten more people waiting to step into the vacated shoes. Marginalized women and children were easy pickings in every country in the world.
I didn’t end up eating dinner at all. When Epic called to find me, I was already late.
“Did you fall back to sleep?”
My mouth was dry. Jesus. Even my water bottle had gone untouched.
“I think you may have been right about me getting the bends.”
“Oh no. You still want to meet up? If you’re tired—”
“Yes. I’m so sorry. I lost track of time. I’ll be there in a few, okay?”
“We’re drinking and having fun, no worries. Glad I called though.”
“I should have set an alarm.”
“Just haul that sweet ass of yours down here and all is forgiven.”
That boy.A hot flush crept over my body while I changed into something decent. I turned to give my ass a look.
“Not bad for an old guy.” Great. Now I was talking to myself.
There wasn’t parking on the street, so I used the veterinary clinic’s lot again. I walked the rest of the way.
