Chapter 18

Kali

"Go right at the end of the street, through the security checkpoint, and I'm the fifth house on the left." Directing Wade to my house has been the only conversation between us since I climbed into his truck.

"I like your truck." I try breaking the tension. It was hard to miss his fully customized black Ford F-150 Lightning with its yellow and blue flame decals along the side panels. He really does live and breathe being an Eagle.

"Thanks."

We've gone from sharing our secrets and him making me have my first orgasm with a man in over a year, to monosyllabic conversations and are now using the rocking punk beats of My Chemical Romance to buffer the awkward silence.

The words of ‘I'm Not Okay' and ‘The Ghost of You' don't go unnoticed.

Wade stops at security, and I ask Will, the guard, to add the truck as well as Wade to my list of visitors before he waves us through.

Driving closer to my house, I point. "The next one is mine." Slowing down, he pulls up outside my home. Stunning ravine views, fully upgraded everything, glass partitions, soaring ceilings with skylights everywhere, and underfloor heating, as well as a heated driveway to overcome the brutal Albertan winters. I love it. It's big, airy, but cozy all at once.

"Nice." He nods in approval at the beautiful house I still can't believe is all mine.

"It's even nicer round the back."

"Yeah?"

"The woman who lived in it before me loved gardening. I haven't killed anything yet."

He gathers my bags full of shopping up off the back seat and leaves his truck running as he opens his door and scoots around the front to my side to help me out.

"Thank you for dropping me home."

"I know you're tall but use the step to get down." Holding his hand out for me to take, he clutches my shopping bags tightly in the other. "Be careful. The temperature has dropped, and it might be a bit slippery."

I love how concerned he is about my safety. "Thank you." I give his hand a grateful squeeze and reach for my shopping bags.

"I'll walk you to the door." He keeps the bags firmly in his clutches and waits for me to lead the way.

"I live in one of the safest neighborhoods around."

"And one of the richest," he says, scanning the row of exclusive houses opposite mine. "I grew up a couple of blocks away from here." He signals for me to move.

"Does your mom still live there?"

"In my grandfather's old house, yeah. On Westfield Estate."

Wow. My house cost me a lot of money, but the gigantic homes on Westfield are five, if not six times what I paid for mine, and they very rarely come up for sale.

"My grandfather inherited it, then he left it to my mom. She's never worked a day in her life." His voice is hoarse, sounding aggravated. "She could fall in shit and come out smelling like Chanel N° 5," he adds.

I climb the five steps leading to my wrap-around porch and front door, pulling my phone from my pocket to open the smart lock.

"Fancy."

"It was installed before I moved in." It's clever, but a complete pain in the ass if you ever forget your phone. I did that once and had to wait hours for a specialist locksmith to gain access and that's why both my sister and my assistant have the app on their phones now.

As the lights on the handle turn green and click, telling me it's unlocked, I push open the door.

Stepping inside, Wade doesn't follow me as I tap the panel on the inside wall, illuminating the interior.

"Holy shit." Wade gasps and I think he's referring to my decor, but then I realize he's not. I follow his line of sight to discover he's ogling the framed twelve-foot black and white image on the wall opposite the entryway. It's of me, standing sideways, completely naked. I'm not wearing any makeup, looking directly at the camera, my long hair flowing down my front resting on the top of my thighs, revealing a bit of cheeky side-boob. I love that photo.

"That was for PETA. You know, the animal rights organization? I launched their first ever campaign. It's a bit egotistical to have it in the house, I know."

"It's not egotistical," he mutters, as if in a daze.

"I put it there so that in thirty years' time I can look at it and remind myself where my ass and boobs once sat."

"Right."

Oh God, I think his brain has stopped working. I mean, it's a bit odd that I have that in my house now I come to think about it. But it's art, and I love it and it was for a worthy cause.

"I'll take those." I reach for my bags, getting slightly annoyed with his one-word answers.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, sorry." He turns his attention back to me, handing the bags over, and I place them behind me on the floor. "Sorry," he apologizes again, but I'm not sure what for.

For staring too long?

For enjoying the photo?

For liking what he sees?

For making me come?

I want to ask him but hold my tongue.

"Thank you for today. For… everything." I pause, hoping he gets the meaning behind my words, but then I panic and add, "I like my new sneakers." I hold my foot up and check them out.

"I have the same ones."

"We should wear them together one day." I snort a laugh, then cover my mouth. "Sorry." How unrefined.

"Then people would think we're together if we dress the same." His tone is flat and emotionless.

My laughter dies in the air.

What I would do right now for the polished concrete flooring beneath my feet to crumble and swallow me whole. "Yeah, dumb idea. I'll call your hotel and pay for the clothes and beauty products you had brought to the room."

"No need."

"I insist."

"Consider them gifts and you can pick up the beauty products and your dress the next time you visit my hotel, or I can have Lola drop them off."

"Thank you." I'm not going to argue with him, but I will call reception and pay for it all. He's not buying any of it for me.

"So…" I push my hands into the back pockets of my jeans to stop me from grabbing him and kissing the hell out of his beautiful mouth.

Biting his lip, I can't work out what he's thinking as the lines across his forehead grow.

There's a moment when he leans forward as if he's about to step over the threshold and I don't mean into my home, I feel like if he entered my house, we would both be crossing a barrier we could never climb back over. Although we sort of already did that tonight.

"Have a good night." Tapping the doorjamb twice, he turns and bolts down the stairs.

Shit. I knew he was regretting what we did. And now I feel all kinds of stupid for letting him touch me rather than putting a stop to it.

Captivated, I watch him walking toward his truck. Strong shoulders, great hair, his toes pointing out slightly, making the perfect V formation. He struts as if he's already a model.

"Wade," I call out to him, stopping him in his tracks.

When he turns back, I ask the question that's been bugging me all day. "Did I remove my own makeup last night?"

"No."

"Who did then?"

"Me." He toes the ground, before adding sheepishly, "Didn't want you having a breakout or anything. Your skin is… perfect."

"Thank you." I can't believe he did that. I"ve spent all day with him, and I still can't figure him out. He's deeper than the Pacific Ocean.

Shooting me a half-smile, he walks to his car and calls back, "Go inside. It's cold."

He swings the driver's door open, jumps in his truck, pumps the rock music up, making his truck vibrate, then he's gone, roaring down the street at the speed of light.

I close my front door, shut my eyes, and lean my back against it, wishing I'd invited him in. I like spending time with him.

God, what am I doing?I drag my hands down my face, pop my lids back open and stare at the photo of me on the wall.

"Stop looking at me like that," I tell myself.

The much younger me pins me with a judgmental glare.

"Oh, shut up," I tell her. "I hate it when you're right."