Page 39 of Notorious

Kurt gives me a sheepish smile. “Well, maybe. I just want to ensure you’re okay. Would you consider sleeping in my bed? We don’t have to do anything,” he adds quickly. “I wanna keep you close, but I wouldn’t, y’know, expect more.”

While part of me is annoyed that I ain’t adult enough to be left alone for a few hours, the greater part of me is getting all soft and melty, because he cares. And spending another night sleeping next to him won’t rightly be a hardship.

Instead of saying anything—or arguing—I nod and, after I grab the bag of my new clothes to bring with me, follow him into his big bedroom.

It’s nicely decorated, with black furniture, framed black-and-white photographs and colorful art, and midcentury modern lamps. It also has what I think is a view of the ocean.

“Um,” I say, scratching my belly. “I’m going to take a shower before bed, if you don’t mind. Is there a bathroom you prefer I use?” I’m not grimy from the drive or anything, but I want a moment to myself.

“Of course I don’t mind, and use mine.” He walks me in there to show me how to use the complicated handles and pauses. “Johnny, I’ll give you the space to do that, but would you … would you please not lock the door? Again, it’s not that I don’t trust you.” He shuffles his feet, then looks me in the eye. “Okay, I don’t trust you when it’s your own safety at stake. You had a lot of scary plans just a few hours ago, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

While I don’t like hearing that, I don’t blame him. And again, maybe the depression(?) is making me not want to fight. I nod. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

“I’m not going to come in,” he says in a rush. “I want to be sure you’re safe when I’m not watching you.”

Something about the way he’s insisting on caring for me penetrates my frozen heart. “It’s fine, precious,” I say, taking a step toward him before stopping.

Even though he smiles at me, I don’t give in to the desire to kiss him, though I’m pretty sure I’m seeing the same want in his eyes.

Before leaving the bathroom, Kurt opens a drawer and removes a package of disposable razors, which he takes with him. “Do I need to lock up the kitchen knives?”

I wince. I hate that he has to ask. “No. I’m not … I’m squeamish about blood.” I touch his wrist. “I promise I would not consider using those to hurt myself. Not after knowing about Andrei. I’d never do that to you. Swear on my mama.”

Kurt studies me a long moment. “I believe you.”

He turns to go, and I follow him into the bedroom, take my toiletry kit out of my suitcase, and return to his bathroom. I turn on the water, then brush my teeth and step into the shower.

While I lather up, I think about the past twenty-four hours. What a mess I’ve made. I’m like a rhino in a rose garden, leaving destruction everywhere.

I’ve ruined Kurt’s chances at the ballot box.

I’ve endangered my mom’s life.

I’ve blown up my life.

I don’t see how things can get any worse, and yet I’m afraid they will.

But something Kurt said to me repeats in my brain over and over again as the hot water sluices down my back.

“The only way out is through.”

There’s a hint there. A promise that, if I can just hang in there long enough, I might be able to get better.

Do I want to?

CHAPTER 14

Kurt

Johnny emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of cloves and citrus, my new favorite scent. I love it.

I wonder what it is—must be soap or aftershave or something. Maybe a combination of products. He should bottle it and sell it, because it makes me think of something sweet and sexy and a little old-fashioned. Which is Johnny. Well, it’s how I think of him, but that’s probably not the common perception, so maybe it wouldn’t work.

He’s got one of my plush dark blue towels wrapped around his hips, showing off his V-cut and his tanned, muscled torso. I’ve mapped out all of those abs many times on video, but seeing them in person does something to me—something like set fire to my bloodstream.

While he was showering, I ran downstairs to shut up the house for the night and turn off the downstairs lights, so I’m in my underwear and taking off my shirt when he returns to the bedroom. I ache with the need to hold him. To run my fingers over his bare skin. To kiss him.

“Feel better?” I ask, and okay, yeah. I’m checking him out. He’s just so beautiful, and he draws me to him. When I used to watch his videos, the minute he was on-screen, my dick would start to harden like Pavlov’s dogs start to drool. Even though he was nothing more than a bunch of pixels, he always looked so touchable.

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