She looks in the mirror and nods. “Me, too.” Then she looks up at me. “I like yours better.”
“I like the color.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet,” she says as she looks at me in the mirror, then grabs some Saran Wrap-looking thing and puts it in her head. “I like yours better.”
“Oh, shit, I hoped you’d notice.” I tug at the back of the plastic wrap now on her head. “How long do I get to look at this?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes, and you decided at nine o’clock at night that this would be what, a great time to change your look?” I ask, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door behind me.
“No.” She looks at me as if questioning her response.
“Why the look?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
I cringe inwardly. “Whatever you want.”
“You don’t want to talk about the past. I respect that,” she says as she sits down on the edge of the bed.
“I appreciate that, but if you need to, go ahead. I just don’t want to revisit mine.”
I look around, not knowing if I should sit or stand. Fuck, I am no good at this shit.
She senses it and pats the spot next to her. “I just want me back. It’s been almost five years, and—” She stops again.
“Go on,” I tell her as I sit.
“I hid for a long time. Then this opportunity came up, and I had to force myself to make a decision to either stay behind the safety of the gate or step outside of it.”
“I don’t understand,” I say honestly.
“Well, everything changed,” she says, blowing out a breath. I don’t know if it’s in frustration or an internal release. “I was sixteen, my mother was in jail, and I had no one. As a result, the State sent me to a home for a week until my aunt came forward and offered to take care of me.” She stops and looks at me. “I stayed with the White family.”
“Sally and Robert White?” I ask, thinking there is no way I could be right.
She nods, still looking at me.
“How long ago?”
“Five years.”
“I know them.”
She opens her eyes. “I know.”
“You know … what?” I hate the anxiety that rises inside me.
“I saw pictures. They have pictures everywhere. You look the same now except for the facial hair.”
“Did they talk about me and”—I pause, not sure what she knows—“my time there?”
“I was only there for a week. I was waiting for my aunt to get there so I could go home.”
“Of course.” I rub her hand.
She looks at me. “I saw pictures of you and thought you were the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.”
“Thank you.”
“They left me alone—well, most of the time. Sally used to come in the room and watch me sleep and sometimes read the Bible to me.” She smiles. “And she brought me food. A lot of food.”
“She liked to cook,” I say as I look down, reflecting on my time at the same fucking place.
“Yeah,” she says, looking down, too.
“You thought I was beautiful? Never heard that one before,” I try to joke.
“I still think so,” she whispers.
“Go on.” I rub my thumb across her knuckles.
“When I came home, everything changed.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
She stops and looks up at me like she’s trying to figure something out again. I hate that shit. It makes me feel like she sees me as weak. I’m not weak. She doesn’t know that, though. I haven’t shown her that.
“He’s beautiful,” she finally says, pulling the subject back to her son.
“So is his mother.”
“He’s been through a lot, you know.”
“So has his mom.”
“Yeah.” She looks down. “Yeah, and I need to be a better mom. Stronger.” She looks at me. “I bet you’re wondering how I got this job.”
“From the moment I saw you chasing Tales.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t know what was on that card.”
“In the past, Sonya.”
She looks at me funny. “When did the present start?”
“At the beach, when I knew you didn’t want to kill me.”
She giggles. “You seriously thought I would kill you?”
“I still think you could.”
Her smile drops, and she shakes her head. “Never.”
“No?” I ask, leaning in, and she meets me halfway. “Good.” I lift her chin. “I really don’t give a damn how you got this job right now, Sonya, but if you want to tell me, feel free.”
“Um …”
“Maybe later?” I press my lips against hers, and hers press hard against mine. “Nothing ever tasted so good.”
I rub my lips back and forth against hers then lick across them. Her mouth opens to me, and I am all in. I taste her; she tastes me back. I pull the back of her neck toward me, and the fucking cap crunches, making her laugh into my mouth.
I capture her bottom lip between my teeth and bite down lightly, pulling her toward me. “That thing needs to go.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, coming toward me again.
“Uh-huh,” I mimic, moving left and kissing her cheekbone. “How long before I can be inside of you with nothing between us?”
“Now,” she moans.
“Hmm,” I say as I kiss lower down her throat, untying the belt around her robe.
The alarm goes off on her phone, and her lips purse out in a pout.
“I need to get rid of this cap.”
“Perfect. Let’s get it done.” I stand up and hold out my hand, which she takes, and then I pull her up.
“I can do it.”
“I think I would like to. You made these little noises when I was—” I pause. “Man, you better never tell anyone that shit.”
“We’re a secret. I couldn’t tell anyone if I wanted to.” She walks ahead of me, still holding my hand.
“We’re a secret because …?”
She shrugs. “My job.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.”
She takes the plastic cap off her head, starts the water, and then bends over the sink. I watch as she rinses it with her hands.
“Let me help.” I grab the plastic cup and fill it with water before dumping it over her head as she works her long, thin fingers through the hair I desperately want in my hands.
“I think it’s good,” she says as she backs up, squeezing the excess water out of her hair.
She grabs the towel next to the sink and dries her hair. When she seems satisfied, she reaches for the brush, but I grab it first. I start in the back and run it through until the brush goes through without a snag.
“Turn around,” I say, and she does. I then lean down and kiss her quickly before lifting her and setting her on the counter. “Looks amazing. Why don’t you go to a salon? Wouldn’t it be easier?”
“I’m not a fan of going out, remember?”
“I’m glad you aren’t.”
“Right, because instead of doing what you came for, you got to be part of my crazy.”
“I actually enjoyed having my hands in your hair, Sonya. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to find this little beauty mark behind your ear that I need to take a taste of.” I push her hair to the side and turn her chin. “It’s right here,” I whisper as I kiss it.
Kissing it isn’t enough, though. I want my mouth on it, over it.
I caress it with my tongue, her taste, her scent, the warmth of her skin mixing together, causing me to get lost.
“Lips,” she pants.
“We’ll get there,” I say as I cup her perfect, little handful of breast.
I step back and pull the bathrobe slowly down her left shoulder, then bend and kiss my way down as I pull her arm from the sleeve. Each inch of skin I touch breaks out in goose bumps, and the strain of my cock against denim is nearly too much, but I am going to take my time. I want to taste her slowly, teasing myself and her.
I take her hand and lift my shirt. Then I hold her hand on my abs. “Don’t move it.”
“I won’t,” she whispers.
Once I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side, her fingers start to dance against my skin.
“You’re moving.”