Page 35 of Wanting Wentworth

After he drove away and I was safely inside, I went upstairs and got ready for bed. Abbey was in the living room watching television so I was all alone when I opened up my backpack and pulled out my blue notebook. Rescuing the pen from its metal spiral, I click it open and write it down. Because even though I know I’ll never have the guts to do it, I still want to see what it looks like, written out in my own handwriting—what I want.

Even if I’ll never get to have it.

The next morning, I’m up and leaving for Northpoint even earlier than usual. It’s barely 3AM by the time I’m leading Two-tone into the paddock behind the house, I give him a quick pat on the rump.

“I’ll be back before you know it—try not to destroy anything.” I’ve given up on being mad at him for destroying my laptop and have decided to accept it as a sign to give up.

Or maybe it’s just an excuse to stop fighting.

Either way, I’m done.

Done? You can’t be done, Kaity. You can’t—because done means married to that piece of shit and stuck here for the rest of your goddamned life.

“What am I supposed to do, Luke?” I ask him out loud, while I close the gate behind Two-tone. “Finals are next week—there’s no way I can get another laptop by then.” I shake my head. “And even if I could—which I can’t—what’s the point?”

The point is getting out. The point is making a life for yourself that gives you what you want—not what you’re expected to give other people.

“You don’t understand,” I say, mounting the porch steps as quietly as I can. James nearly caught me yesterday. I barely made it out before he came downstairs.

I understand that you let Dad convince you that you owe him for things that aren’t even your fault.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper, sliding my backpack off my shoulders while I walk through the mudroom. I still carry it, mainly out of habit—that and it’s a handy place to keep my bear spray and the baked goods I keep bringing up here. I told him that my mom is the one who keeps baking for him but it’s a lie. It’s really me.

I’m the phantom baker.

This morning’s offering is brown butter blondies—my particular favorite. Even though I ate three of them while I was boxing them up, I’ve already decided I’m going to sneak a couple more to eat on the way home.

Kaity—

Stepping into the kitchen, I swing my backpack full of blondies and bear spray onto the kitchen island. “I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” I whisper it on a sigh. Opening my backpack, I pull out the plastic container full of baked goods. “What’s done is—”

“Who are you talking to?”

Hearing his voice, I turn around and let out a yelp so loud, Two-tone answers it with a nervous whinny from his enclosure outside. Damien’s brother is standing right in front of me. Inked arms the size of tree trunks crossed over his thick, bare chest. He’s leaning against the counter in front of the coffee pot, wearing nothing but a pair of loose track pants while giving me a bleary-eyed look like he’s been standing there all night. The notebook we’ve been using to pass notes over the last few days is gripped in one of the hands he has tucked under his arm.

“Jesus...” My heart takes off at a gallop and I press my hand flat against my chest to try and rein it in. “What the—”

“Hell am I doing?” He finishes my sentence, the corner of his mouth twitching with something caught between annoyance and amusement. “I’m waiting for you, Sunshine.”

“It’s too early,” I tell him, sounding almost as stupid as I feel. “You should be in bed.” Saying it reminds me of what I wrote in my blue notebook last night, the memory of it spreading a blush across my cheeks.

“Well, that’s exactly where we’d be if you didn’t insist on sneaking in to scrub my toilet and leave me baked goods at 3AM.”

“We?” It comes out, barely a squeak, while my gaze dips to his mouth for a second only to bounce back up to find his.

“Me and my dick.” Like he knows I can’t stop looking at them, he runs the tip of his tongue along the inside of his lower lip while he jiggles the notebook in his hand, it’s red cover taunting me from across the kitchen. “So?”

“So what?” Heart pounding in my ears, I give serious consideration to just bolting out the door but that does me zero favors because the thought of him chasing me makes my knees wobble.

“So...” He pulls the notebook from under his arm and flips through the several pages we’ve used to write back and forth to each other over the past week. Finding what he’s looking for, he flicks me a black, hooded look through his thick lashes before he starts to read. “Running the risk of hurting its feelings all over again, I have to be honest—if I were to agree to model for you, staring at your dick wouldn’t be what I’d ask for as payment.” Closing the notebook, he drops his arms to brace the heels of his hands against the edge of the counter behind him, leaning into the space between us with an expectant look.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a nervous headshake, stalling because I’m hoping the floor will open up and swallow me whole. “Was that a question?”

“It was.” Pushing himself away from the counter, he makes his way toward me, closing the short distance between us so fast I barely have time to scramble back before he’s standing over me. “It was very much a question, Sunshine—do you need me to repeat it?”

“I...” Breath knocking around in my chest because he’s suddenly all I can see, I look up at him and nod. “Yes, please.”

Tossing the notebook onto the counter behind me, he moves even closer, leaning forward to press his palms against its cool granite surface on either side of me, caging me in. “If you were to model for me, what would you ask for as payment?”

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