“Do you have any questions?” I ask while putting a dollop of Arnicare gel on my finger.
“So many,” she says as I spread the gel across my gloved fingers and touch her neck. This time she doesn’t flinch at all. I nod, giving her permission to ask. “Why did you save me? How did you know I was in danger? Were you following me?”
I move my fingers in slow circles around her delicate skin. “I saw them following you and knew they were up to no good.” I dip my head lower. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”
She blinks a few times. “Do we know each other?”
I close the tube before getting up to grab a water bottle from the cabinet where I got the blanket. “Not directly. We both work in the same building, but we don’t work together.”
She furrows her brow and sighs. “There are thousands of people who work in that building. Doesn’t exactly do much to help me deduce your identity or how you know me.”
The first time I saw her was six months ago. I was running late and it threw off my whole schedule. The elevator was crowded and I stood in the back when she came in. She was cute—ponytail with a perfect spiral curl, a pink frilly shirt, a little pencil skirt with kittens on it, and a long raincoat hanging open. She looked like she belonged in a movie. As the elevator doors started to close, an arm jutted in. He wore wraparound sunglasses, had buzz-cut blond hair, and chomped on gum. Everyone knew exactly where he worked. He was on his phone, eyeing her up and down, talking about the new guest for the Alpha Dogggz Podcast.
“Let’s bring up his bitchy ex and see what he says. It’s only defamation if it’s not true.” He winks at Kitten as he hangs up. “You’re fucking hot as hell.” He handed her his business card. “Call me and I’ll let you sit on my face.”
“That’s quite an offer before nine a.m.,” she said. It wasn’t exactly flirty, but it didn’t have the disdain I hoped she would have. He stepped out of the elevator and shot her finger guns. Once the door closed, she sighed. “Say you’ve never gotten a woman off without saying you’ve never gotten a woman off … you work for the Alpha Dogggz Podcast.” There were a few chuckles from the little old lady next to her. She shivered and said, “Does anyone have bleach for my soul?”
I laughed. It was the first time someone had made me laugh in my darkest year. She turned back and looked at me with a quick smile when the elevator stopped at her floor. She shot melittle finger guns and winked before stepping out the door and said, “Don’t be a douche today, but tomorrow is fine.”
Kitten was the best part of not just my day, or week, but my month. And she had no idea who I was. It’s hard to reconcile the woman from the elevator and the one in front of me now, waiting for more answers.
I motion with the water bottle up and down at her clothes. “You are memorable. I am not.”
She nods. “Why did you bring me here?”
“It’s safe.”
“Why not the police station?” So many reasons.
“You can call the police if you want,” I offer, but she frowns and wraps herself tighter in the blanket. “Keep me out of it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Like they’d believe me. It’s going to be hard enough to convince them I was attacked, much less saved by a masked man on a motorcycle.” She takes a sip of water. “I wish I had a stronger sense of faith in the justice system, but life has proven that not to be true.”
I wish she were wrong.
She’s quiet for a beat, her eyes scanning the room. “So you work in corporate America during the day and a sex club at night while rescuing women in between? Why?”
I stand and lean against the table, arms crossed, watching her every movement. “One pays well and has insurance, the other is fun. And I’m not in the habit of saving women.”
She motions her head from side to side. “Makes sense. But what’s with the mask? Are you hiding some hideous deformity?”
I lift my index finger and let out a low growl. “That’s one, Kitten.” She opens her mouth, but I raise my hand, and she stops. “Strike one. Questions are encouraged, but insults are not. Questions have the intent of knowledge. Insults intend to do harm.”
She pulls the blanket around her closer, like fuzzy armor. “What happens when I hit three strikes?”
“Punishment.” I nod to the wall next to us. “It’s a sex club, after all.”
She squishes her face and moves her jaw from left to right. “Ok, give me a second, because I have questions about the mask, but I’m not trying to be offensive. To recap: a half hour ago, I was attacked by my ex-boyfriend’s friends, hopped on the back of a motorcycle with a stranger who brought me to a sex club and wears a mask, provides medical attention, and we’ve both decided the police wouldn’t put me in a better situation. And that you know me, indirectly, and we’ve never talked."
Replaying the events, I say, “Yes, that is correct.”
She exhales and her shoulders sink into the blanket. She dips her head as she confesses, “Here’s the cognitive disconnect … I should have tons of red flags about you, but I don’t. Not exactly green flags either. And obviously the mask is a source of curiosity.”
Damn, she’s trying so fucking hard to be good. She keeps glancing up at my face for some sort of reassurance or reprimand, but the mask makes it impossible for her.
I explain, “It adds to the fantasy of the situation and heightens it. It’s a source of mystery. I could be anyone: a billionaire looking for love without someone using me for money, a bad boy on the road to redemption, your ex …” I trail off hoping I’ve made my point.
She shakes her head. “Nope. That’s not it. He’s taller.” She pauses. “Um, I’m not trying to be insulting, it’s just a fact of your existence, not an evaluation of your identity. He was six foot three and two-fifty of muscle, a gym bro”—she leans forward—“he was overcompensating.” She leans back. “I’m not saying one is better than the other. I am pointing out that you havedifferent body types.” She looks down at the ground. “Sorry for interrupting.”
