“It should be me cooking for you. I still owe you a meal for fixing my bed.”
“You can cook next time. I’ll fix your leaky tap while I’m there.”
My stomach flutters, hoping this can be a weekly thing. It will certainly make a change from cooking and eating alone.
Once he has the pasta simmering in the pan, he sits across from me at the kitchen island, sliding me a glass of sparkling lemonade. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“You paid the top up fee for Mum’s care package.” The pulse in my neck throbs as I recall telling my masked man about the problems with my mum’s care plan. I wonder if the two men are the same. Is it wishful thinking? Either way, both men are elusive to me. One’s off-limits and the other won’t even show me his face.
“I had some money saved. Thought it would help you out. I hope I didn’t overstep. It’s just I knew if I offered, you wouldn’t take it.” He huffs. “And your sister certainly wouldn’t entertain it.”
“How did you know? I never told you her money had run out.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I heard you and Fern talking about it when I fixed your bed.”
“Oh.” I relax my shoulders, slumping against the island. I don't remember talking about it the day he was fixing my bed, but we've been looking at care homes for months, so it makes sense that he could have heard us. I silently curse myself for thinking he could be my mystery man. Shane wouldn’t pretend to be someone else just to see me get off.
Would he?
18
LILLY
My stomach flip-flops as I set my phone in the ring light, ready for my evening session with my masked man. Chatting with him is like being on a date with a man who actually listens and doesn’t just want to get into my knickers.
I smooth a hand over my styled wavy hair, pulling it in front of my shoulder to hang down my satin pyjama shirt. Sarge_in_charge might have wanted me to wear my pyjamas, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wear my sexy ones.
“There’s my beautiful nightingale,” a gruff voice says through the dark screen on my phone.
“Hello, sir.” My fingers comb through the waves hanging down my front.
“How are you today?” He dips his head, the black balaclava coming into view.
“Good. I wasn’t working today and managed to get a lot done as well as visit my mum.”
“I can tell things are good. You’re glowing tonight.”
Hairs prickle on the back of my neck. He doesn’t know that part of that is getting to talk to him. I could tell him, but heprobably thinks I say that to all my clients. Or past clients. “What about you? How was your day?”
He leans back in the office chair with an exhale under the mask. “It was uneventful. Better now I get to talk to you and see you happy.”
“I’m always happy to talk to you.”
“Really?” His sarcastic tone tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“Of course.” Still combing my fingers through my hair, I say, “I told you it gets lonely living on my own. I look forward to our chats.”
“Is that what you told the other guys?” A small chuckle comes through the mic.
I shuffle on the edge of the bed. He’s becoming more than a client. He’s wormed his way into my head and taken up residence, but I like him there. “We’re all just people wanting a human connection. Whether it’s sexual or just platonic. I got as much out of my lives these past months as my subscribers did.”
“How so?” He leans closer to the screen, resting his masked chin in his gloved hand.
“They made me feel like I had a purpose. Even if it was superficial, they made me feel wanted and a little less alone.”
“Do I make you feel that way?”
“Yes. I just wish you’d take your mask off so I can see who I’m talking to.”
