36. consequences

36

CONSEQUENCES

Work flies by in one of those dreamy streaks that happen when your mind is occupied by rainbows and unicorns—and sexy, smart men with monster cocks. I can't stop smiling. My coworkers tease me, my customers leave awesome tips, and when I leave for the day I all but sprint to my apartment.

As I'm staring at a half-full, battered backpack and wondering if Leo expects me to stay the night, my phone vibrates with a call.

"Hey, Kins," I chirp.

"Hey," she says morosely.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to confess something I did that I feel really bad about."

I bite my lips on a smile, knowing exactly what she's going to apologize for. "Oh?" I ask noncommittally.

"Yeah, um… remember how I told you not to leave the Ha lloween party before midnight? Well, see, it was because?—"

I can't take it anymore and laugh. "You knew Leo might show up late. It's okay."

"OhmyGod, I've been freaking out, worried that something shitty happened and it was all my fault. I saw him talking to you, but then he left by himself, and you went home alone, and?—"

"I'm going over to his place tonight."

"What?" she screeches. "Spill. Now."

I fill her in on everything that's happened since Halloween, then wait for her blubbering excitement. It doesn't come; instead, she's uncharacteristically quiet.

"Kinsey?"

"I'm here." She pauses, then sighs. "Are you sure this is okay? A sex-only relationship? I mean, it is Leo Chastain we're talking about. You're pretty much in love with him."

I laugh uneasily. "It's just sex, Kins. I'm not in love with him. I barely know him."

Another pause. "I don't believe you. You guys have way more than just a physical connection."

I don't really believe me, either.

"I'm aware of the risk," I tell her soberly. "I know he might break my heart. But I can't… I don't want to stop. I want him. Want to be around him for however long he wants me. I can't explain it, really, but I don't feel like I used to—like he's just a means to an end, someone I can use. He's… different. I'm different."

"Shit," she groans. "Okay, Mia. I love you and support you no matter what. Just… please be careful. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know. Love you too. I'll check in tomorrow."

"You'd better."

Ending the call, I sit listlessly beside my backpack. Kinsey didn't say anything I don't already know, even if I've tucked the truth away in a tiny, locked box in my head. As much as I tell myself I don't have feelings for Leo, that my attachment is merely a byproduct of the pseudo-intimacy of our many sessions at Oasis, I know it's not that simple.

This time when I fall, there will be no parachute. Nothing but wind between me and the ground.

So be it.

Leo's house isn't what I expected. When the Uber drops me off outside, I double-check my phone to make sure I have the right address.

I always imagined him in some high-rise condo or a modern masterpiece of glass, wood, and clean lines. Instead, he lives in Echo Park on a quaint street with kids bikes leaning on front porches, small but lovingly tended yards, and sidewalks shadowed by big trees.

The bones of the house in front of me give the impression they've been standing for a century or so but have the immaculate polish of an extensive remodel. Half of the yard is grass, the other half full of overflowing garden beds. There's a picket fence, for God's sake. Not white, but still, a picket fence.

I walk up the path to the front porch, battling a full-blown case of what-the-hell-am-I-doing-heres. Two bikes rest against the vine-covered lattice beneath the porch, one man-sized and one kid-sized. A forgotten baseball bat lies in the grass, along with a worn baseball and a sun-faded nerf gun.

I make it up the steps onto the porch and pause to catch my breath. I'm winded. Why the fuck am I winded?

I'm only about 30 percent recovered when the front door opens, spilling light and soft music. I jerk upright and plaster on a smile I hope doesn't look like a crazy person's.

"Hi," I wheeze.

Leo smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He's in business slacks and a white shirt sans tie, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A kitchen towel drapes over one shoulder, and his hair is styled, boasting the familiar razor-sharp part. That, of all things, is what calms me down.

"Did you walk here?" he deadpans, noting my flushed face and erratic breathing.

I push a few stray hairs from my face. "Can I lie to you?"

His smile grows. "Go for it."

"Yes, I walked. Needed some exercise."

He bites his lower lip, glancing behind me. "It's a strenuous trip from the curb up to the porch, huh?"

I nod. "Basically an Iron Man competition."

A smile blooms, crinkling his eyes. "Come here, Amelia. "

"Okay," I whisper, not moving.

So he comes to me, smile softening as he takes the straps of my backpack and pulls it off, then captures my hand in his.

"I still make you nervous," he says mildly as he escorts me into the house. I barely notice my surroundings other than pale walls and reclaimed wood floors. His hand is hot, like a small sun on my clammy palm.

"No. I mean, yes. I wasn't expecting…" I trail off, staring into a beautiful living room with comfy couches, a low coffee table littered with various toys and man-clutter, fireplace, and big flat-screen TV.

"You thought I lived in a sterile box, didn't you?"

My gaze jerks to his face and wry expression. "Maybe."

He chuckles, dropping my backpack inside the front door. "Are you hungry? I got home late tonight and just cooked dinner. There's enough for two."

My stomach is in knots, but I nod. "I could eat, sure."

His fingers squeeze mine then release. "I was just about to throw pasta in some water. Is meat sauce okay? I can't remember if you're a vegetarian."

Stop being so perfect, asshole. I can't handle it.

"I'm not. That sounds great. I love pasta and meat. Me and meat and pasta go way back."

Fuckitty-fuck, Mia. My eyes roll upward, hoping to manifest a lightning bolt to strike me down and end it all.

Leo's hands cupping my face jolt me into the moment. His bright blue eyes are mere inches from mine. I wonder how I ever thought they were icy. There's nothing remotely cold in them now .

"Hey," he whispers.

I release a shuddering breath. "Hi. Sorry for the freak-out."

"No need to apologize. I don't want you to pretend with me. I want to know what you're thinking and feeling. Full disclosure here, okay?"

Not gonna happen, buddy.

I nod. "Sure."

His lips touch mine lightly, coaxing them to part. I surrender and sag against him, tension unraveling from my body as his tongue finds mine. The kiss is dizzying, his touch and heat permeating my senses.

I palm him through his slacks, delighting in his grunt. "I'm turning the stove off," he growls against my mouth. "We can order food later."

This I know.

This I want.

This I can handle.