Page 81 of Callan

“As in, do you have any family? Parents, siblings?” he asks straightly, and my attention sharpens on him.

He seems invested in a truthful response, and I’m far from being comfortable enough to give him one.

I rarely––okay, never––talk about this stuff.

For one, it’s nobody’s business.

And then, it’s dangerous to tell him the story of my life under these unfortunate circumstances.

He’s a man.And I don’t know him.

He clearly is involved in some nasty stuff.

He might have money and be sexy as hell, but I’m no dummy.

If there was one thing I learned when I started to take care of myself as a teen, it was that no one was my friend.

Especially someone like him.

“You are alone…” he answers his own question, surprised and slightly pensive.

Why is he so concerned about me?

He’s not responsible for the hand life has dealt me.

We are not connected in any way.

Is there chemistry between us?

Yes, it is.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

I know how he makes me feel. How my body responds to his touch. How my brain malfunctions every time he runs interference with his presence or his absence.

Or his words.

I know all that.

And I see that he’s aware of that.

At the same time, he’s unpredictable like a box of firecrackers.

He was quite nasty when I met him.Cranky and demanding.

And he wasn’t that much nicer when I found him at that woman.

Beverly, who is… Yeah, who the fuck is she?

“How about I take you out?” he says quietly, and my attention snaps back to him.

Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

I lift up my hand in haste.

“I don’t want anyone’s pity. Please… Especially yours. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and more than content with my company.”

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