Page 49 of Collateral Claim
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“And do you have a dog carrier for when he needs to go?”
I narrow my eyes. “You know I don’t.”
“You can ask me for one. Maybe I have one. Or two even. Maybe I lost my dogs last year, so I have pet carriers.”
Aww. He lost his dogs. Oh no, I won’t ask about them. I won’t.
Endo continues, “If you walk away now, youwillwalk way over five miles. In the rain. I’m not joking.”
“I’m not afraid of rain. And I’m not afraid of walking.”
Endo puts the plate down, then cups one side of my face. “Are you afraid of spending time with me?” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Then stay. I’ll stop talking about things you have no business knowing. Eat your cake. Deal with the truth. It’s painful but necessary. Most people can’t handle it. It’s why they hate the world and hate people who tell them the truth. The truth is that you can have your cake and eat it too. It’s just that people in power don’t want you to know that because that threatens their status. Most would rather you remain in your comfort zone. But you don’t do comfort zones, do you? You want to leave a scar. This is cake.” He offers me a bite. “Open your mouth and have it.”
“You’ve convinced yourself that I believe what you’re telling me.”
“Do or don’t.” Lightning streaks through the sky. Thunder roars, and the first droplets fall on our cheeks. Endo wipes mine while I watch rain trail down his high cheekbones. “Walk miles in the storm and end up at my house, or get in a comfortable car and end up in the same place. Up to you.”
The piece of cake touches my lips, and I close my mouth over the food. It tastes yummy.
Endo’s eyes hood. His hand on my cheek travels to the back of my neck, and he tugs, pulling our bodies closer. I can feel his hardness on my belly. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I want to put them on his hips, his chest, his hair. I want to ruffle his hair and pull on it. Hard. I want his lips all over my body, his beard scraping the places of me that ache.
On the table, my phone buzzes with a familiar ring.
Endo holds me in place, won’t let me move. Not even an inch.
“That’s my sister,” I say.
“You know by the ringtone?”
I nod. “Please let me answer.”
“No.”
“Please,” I beg.
Endo tsks but asks, “What will you tell her?”
“The truth.”
“Ah. But she’s not ready for the truth.”
“The truth about us. That we’re not engaged and that…” I frown, my thoughts a jumbled mess. This is why I need a walk. To clear my head.
“Yes?” Endo prompts.
I can’t tell Charlotte anything because Endo and my dad are involved in a business I want nothing to do with. I’m afraid this is far too dangerous for me and my sister, and I wish I had no part in it. Oblivion, sometimes, is bliss.
The phone stops ringing.
“Let me know when you come up with something to say to her, and I’ll give you the phone.”
