“Well, I’ll take the sex too.”
She raises her brows when I say that. “You slept with him?”
“Yes.” I smile into my drink. “A few times.” I shiver, relishing the memory of us in his office. I never knew humiliation could feel so secure. Like being laid bare and claimed with pride at the same time. It was sinful and delicious.
Rosa shrugs and raises her martini glass to her lips. “Cheers to you.”
Maybe most men don’t often put out effort, but mine does. He hand-painted an entire tarot deck, for fuck’s sake. “He’s my best friend. He put in effort before we even started dating.”
She’s a woman scorned, frustrated by the opposite sex, but she can’t judge Logan’s character based on other men. Logan is different, she’ll learn that when she meets him. She’ll learnthat when she meets Thor too . . .which is about to happen a lot sooner than she thinks. My attention is drawn to the large hulking figure making his way through the door. Tall and tattooed, Thor carries a casual danger about him. He’s like Logan in that way. A smile grows on my face. “Today is your lucky day, babe.” I shoot my hand into the air. “Thor!”
His eyes fall on us, and he stops scanning the room.
He does that sexy smirk that makes women drop their panties, and Rosa instantly blushes. She fixes her hair as casually as she can, then turns her head to me and mouthsOh my God. She’s wearing a tight red dress and looks stunning.
“Ladies,” he says in that low, gritty voice.
“Let me guess, Logan put you on assignment?”
The corner of his mouth cracks into a smile. “He just wants to make sure nobody does anything stupid.” His gaze flicks toward Rosa. “But he didn’t say I couldn’t join you.”
I smile and arch a brow, gesturing to the unoccupied love seat across from us. He sits, and immediately their body language changes. Rosa tucks her hair behind her ear and angles toward him more, showcasing a softer, shy side of her.That’s new.
This is interesting. I wish Logan were here to see this.
“I’m going to get another drink. Thor, what would you like? My treat.”
He glances at me momentarily before fixing his attention back on her. “Just here to watch.”
“If you say so.” I wander over to the bar from our cocktail table, making sure to keep my eyes on them. I get a little frisson of excitement when Rosa sits next to him on the sofa. Holy shit, I knew they would be good together, but they are seriously clicking.
Thor leans in to say something to her, and she laughs. Logan may have sent a babysitter for us, but this is the most interest I’ve seen Thor take in a woman since . . . well, since ever.
I order another round and take a seat at the bar, leaning back to observe the show with gleeful delight as they get to know each other. Based on the way Thor is looking at her like he’s already planning when to see her again, I don’t think either of them minds.
After work, I head back to my house to get my mail. It’s been a few days, and I need some fresh clothes to take to Logan’s. He keeps encouraging me to leave things at his house; at this rate, my name will be on the deed by fall. It’s like he’s got some covert operation to move me into his loft, one laundry load at a time.
It’s great he wants me closer, especially because it makes me feel safe with him around. I sort through the ads, including offers for window replacement and blacktop sealing—two things I could probably use but can’t afford—while ambling up my driveway from the mailbox. After entering through the back door, I step into the kitchen, standing over the garbage can, dropping the junk mail into the recycling as I sift through each piece. A couple are things I need to keep, but since all my bills are paperless, it’s mostly junk. At the bottom of the pile is a manila envelope with my name on it and no return address. It’s thick.
I grab my phone and consider calling Logan but shake my head and undo the metal tab on the back, holding my breath and shaking out the contents.
There’s another envelope inside with a message scrawled on the outside.
These are better than selfies, don’t you think?
I open it up.
Photos. Of us.
These aren’t from last night, they’re from before: the night I undressed for him next to his easel. The night we were covered in paint and having sex. Wrapped up in each other. The stack slips from my fingers, and they flutter to the floor like confetti.
We don’t even look far away, they’re zoomed in. As if they were taken right outside the window, which makes no sense, since he lives on the top floor.
With trembling hands, I clutch my phone and call him. He answers on the first ring. I open my mouth to tell him about the pictures, but only a sob escapes.
“What happened?” I can’t stop.
“Kelly, are you at your house right now?”
