Stick to day shifts when I could.
Make sure someone walked me to my car.
Keep my mace within reach.
A muscle in my jaw twitched as a memory flooded in uninvited. The drug dealer had showed up at our house when I was thirteen, shouting at my dad, demanding money. I had snuck out of my bedroom window, hiding behind the bushes while I listened to bodies hitting walls, to the sound of my mother crying, my brother cursing, my father promising things he would never deliver.
The next day, both my parents had black eyes, and Victor had been limping.
That had been the night I decided I was done with family. That I was going to get out. That I would never, ever rely on anyone but myself.
My phone vibrated, pulling me back to the present as I neared a stoplight.
Brooks: Don’t freak out, but I just got a boner thinking about you not correcting me when I said relationship. It turns me on when you accept what we are. Gets me all excited and happy.
I snorted, the tension in my chest loosening just a little.
Michelle: Well, settle down. I’ll be there soon.
His reply was a simple winky face emoji, and before I could stop it, I smiled.
I pulled into the nicer part of the city, the palm-tree-lined streets a sharp contrast to the cracked pavement and flickering streetlights I was used to. Brooks didn’t flaunt his money, but it was obvious he had it.
I was a little relieved to see he lived in a condo and not a mansion. Pulling up to a giant estate with pillars like Gideon’s house would’ve been too much. I parked on the street, self-conscious for a second about leaving my shitty car in a neighborhood like this.
It would stick out like a sore thumb. I made a mental note to leave before the sun came up.
Michelle: I’m here!
Brooks stepped off his small porch, looking ridiculously good in joggers that hung low on his hips, shirtless, barefoot, and smirking like he had all the time in the world.
My mouth watered.
If anyone asked what my type was, the only answer would be Brooks.
Before him, it had been whoever could give me an orgasm and leave by morning.
Now? My favorite color was his eyes.
My favorite flavor was how he tasted when he kissed me.
"Creeper status," I said, locking my car as I fought the urge to run to him.
His grin widened, and my pulse raced. He met me at the bottom of the stairs and enveloped me in a huge hug. “I missed your face. I can ignore the smell of pickles you brought with you, but your face, let me see it.”
He tipped my chin up toward his, and he stared at me for so long that I felt myself blushing at his perusal. “Yup. I like it a lot.”
“It almost makes up for the fact you insulted me.” I pushed his chest, but he caught my hand and pulled me back to try and kiss me. “Nope. No kissing. Let me shower the pickle smell off me.”
“I like pickles, though.”
“Don’t pout.” I had to smile at his frown. “I didn’t bring any other clothes, so I could just get naked here?”
His laugh rumbled as he wrapped his arms around me, lifting me effortlessly. “Now that’s the best thing you’ve said all night.”
Brooks led me inside, closing the door behind us with a soft click, and I took in the sharp, modern edges of his home.
It was a beautiful space, the kind of place you’d see in a high-end design magazine—all black and white walls, clean lines, and expensive-looking decor. The floor was tiled, sleek and cool beneath my feet, and a few minimalist art pieces lined the walls.
