She giggles softly. “Don’t go getting a big head or anything. I don’t really know that many fathers.”
I laugh, put my leg down, and inch closer. “My turn. Why do you pay for everything with cash?”
Her eyes scan the wall behind me. She’s scrambling to come up with an answer. Or a lie. Or maybe she thinks I’m overstepping again. I immediately regret asking the question.
When she looks like she might get out of bed to avoid answering altogether, I pivot and switch my line of questioning. “Okay, so if this is a one-time thing and you’re leaving soon, and we may never see each other again, tell me, Kenna Bennett, what is the worst thing about you?”
“That’s a strange question. I’m not sure how to answer. Like, what don’t I like about myself? As in, my small butt?”
I reach around and squeeze her delectable ass. “There is nothing wrong with your butt. Believe me. And no, that’s not what I was asking. Let me rephrase. What’s the one thing you don’t want anyone to know about you?”
Her eyes go wide. “Pretty bold for a guy I just met.”
“Like I said, if we’re never going to see each other again, who cares?” When she looks lost in thought again, I add, “Wow… just how many things are there, Kenna?”
“You might be surprised.”
Actually, no, I wouldn’t. I know there are so many things I don’t know about her. Things she’s hiding from me. Things she might be hiding from the world. And I know it’s risky business asking her these deep questions, but I’m doing it anyway. Because there’s an hourglass in my head, and the top half just keeps getting sparser and sparser. “Okay, I’ll go first. I didn’t cry when my dad died.”
“I’m so sorry.” And she truly sounds it. “I didn’t realize you’d lost both parents.”
“He died years before my mom.”
“I’m not sure it’s anything to feel bad about. And it definitely can’t be the worst thing about you. Lots of men don’t cry.”
“Oh, I cry, Kenna. Stick around long enough and you’ll see I’m just a stupidly sentimental guy who chokes up at commercials about dads walking their daughters down the aisle or families gathering for holidays. It’s pretty pathetic really.” I look down and shake my head, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh before focusing on her beautiful face again. “Is it too late to change my answer? Maybe the worst thing about me is that I crytoomuch.”
“Nope.” Her head shakes back and forth across the pillow. “You can’t use that one. I love a man who isn’t afraid to show his emotions.”
Her entire body stiffens. Is she replaying the words in her head? Because I sure the hell am.
“I… uh…” She’s flustered and nervous, looking everywhere but at me. Just when I think she’s done talking—done being here—she blurts, “I worked as an escort.”
I blink repeatedly,waytoo many thoughts going through my head right now. The first of which is that I wasn’t that far off with the Only Fans theory. The second of which is that could explain why she has money. The third—she used past tense, but just how far in her past was it? Last year? Lastweek? Jesus, is she on the run from a slimeball client?
She covers her eyes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Tell me.” I inch closer. “Kenna…” I take a deep breath. “Is someone you were… I mean, um… is one of your clients stalking you? Is that why you seem to be so skittish?” I remove her hands from her eyes and put a finger under her chin, guiding her head until she looks at me. “Nothing you say will make me think less of you.”
“It’s not as bad as what you’re thinking.”
“Well, good, because I’m thinking all kinds of shit. Not the least being that you’re in danger.”
“I’m not running from a client.”
I’m relieved, yet still skeptical. There was hesitation in her voice. Maybe she’s not running from a client, but she’s running fromsomething.
“I told you my dad didn’t want me to go to college, right? Well, tuition was expensive. Bills were piling up. I met a fellow student who worked as a hired escort. She said it was easy money, and she had zero college debt. So I gave it a try.” She must see my stunned expression because she quickly adds, “I wasn’t a hooker, Carter. But this… your expression and how you’re thinking of me right now? It’s exactly why I don’t tell people. I mean my dad would roll over in his grave and he’s not even dead.”
I put my hand on top of hers. “I told you, I’m not judging. People do all kinds of crazy shit to get by. Keep going, I want to hear it.”
She pulls her hand out from under mine. I don’t like that she’s done it, but maybe it’s because she’s ashamed.
“I worked for a reputable agency that pretty much just hired out arm candy for men who wanted their egos stroked at public events and stuff. Sex was never on the table. It’s illegal to perform sexual acts as a paid escort, and that was communicated to each and every client. We worked for appearance-sake only. You’d be surprised at how many times I escorted men to high school reunions.” Her eyes roll. “To them, it was about who could show up with the prettiest woman.” She sighs. “Not that I’m calling myself pretty.”
“Kenna, you’re more than pretty. You’re breathtaking.”
“Of course you’d say that to the person who just haphazardly jumped into bed with you.”
