Page 53 of Unlocked Dive
“Who knew you had a breeding kink?”
“A what?”
“Oh my god, how are you such a baby bi and still so ridiculously phenomenal in bed?”
“I’m not phenomenal at anything. You’re just easy to get off.”
“Are you calling me a slut?”
“What? No!”
“Pretty sure you just called me ‘easy.’”
“I meant easy forme. Shit. Echo, I like doing the things you like done to you,soI pay attention.I’ve always been paying attention. It’s not magic, it’s—”
Love.
“It feels like magic to me.”
23
Echo
Iburst through the sliding glass doors after running all the way up from the rig, only to find Byrd pacing the living room with his phone to his ear. He shoots me a warning look that wipes the shit-eating grin from my face.
“Yes. No. I appreciate the concern, but…I understand.” He drops his arm to his side, staring at nothing.
“Who was that?”
The look on his face is so resigned, it sends a jolt of panic through me.
“Your father.”
“Oh.”Oh shit.“What did he want?”
I’ve talked to my parents a few times over the last two-and-a-half months. Mostly short texts to tell them I’m alive and training is going great, among other vague assurances. It’s hard to share my progress when I never divulged how bad things were to begin with.
“To tell me he knows about our ‘involvement.’”
“What? How?”
“I guess some business associate of his saw us together in town the other morning.”
The morning after my birthday. When Byrd and I were all over each other at the local bakery. I remember the guy in the charcoal slacks and cashmere who’d stared at us over his cappuccino. He wasn’t familiar—I’d figured he was either some bigot or a closeted perv—but I know my dad likes to show me off to his colleagues, so I could have been recognized from one of his videos. I’ve never really been good at blending in.
“Is he…mad?” My parents have always taken a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to my sex life, but if my dadcalledByrd—yeah. Not good. Byrd sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face and shoving his phone into his pocket.
“I wouldn’t say ‘mad.’ He wanted to make sure I know you don’t have access to your trust fund until you’re twenty-five.” He shoots me a wry smile, and I snort.
“Did you tell him you’re already worth seven figures?” I don’t really know for sure, but owning houses in two of the most expensive areas of California provides a pretty good baseline.
“Well, slightly less since the divorce, but I’m sure he knows how much Cirque pays me. He seems like the kind of man who does his homework.”
“So he was worried you were after my trust fund? That’s not so bad.”
Byrd raises his eyebrows, and I hurriedly add, “I mean, it’s insulting, obviously, but also ridiculous and—” I tilt my head at him. “Do you care what my father thinks of you?” For some reason, the idea makes my stomach fill with warm butterflies.
“That wasn’t all he wanted to tell me.”
