Page 30 of Deeply Examined

“Stock market?” I come to a standstill and tilt my head, looking up at him. It’s late now and my eyes feel gritty, but he looks as fresh as ever, although annoyed with his mouth turned down at the corners.

He lets out a deep breath and shakes his shoulders slightly, like he’s forcing himself to relax. Calm again, Dr. West glances around, then turns those shiny gray eyes back to me. “I’ve always been good at math, and I like analyzing things, so I’ve been day trading since I was a teenager. I used to take everything I made and invest it. Even if it was just $5 from some busboy job. Eventually I made enough to put myself through school and then I bought this condo.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment,” I say, impressed.

He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I guess so.” Then he straightens and gestures to the end of the hallway. “Anyway, down there is my bedroom.”

I look to where he points but only get a glimpse through the partially open door. Enough to see averyfamiliar-looking bed. His is made of a dark brown wood, but it’s the same curtained four-poster bed that he bought me.

My breath catches at the sight and all the memories it invokes. There’s a tingling between my thighs. I open my mouth to say something witty about it but stop when another door catches my eye. “What’s that? The door next to your bedroom?”

“Oh…that holds all my electronics. You know, the stuff that controls my audiovisual equipment. Nothing interesting.”

“Cool. This is a real smart home, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Full of the latest technology. You must be tired by now.” He takes hold of my elbow. “I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” I ask, confused. “I’m not sleeping with you?” I don’t know why, but given all the—ahem—intimate moments we’ve shared I assumed he would put me in his bedroom.

“I don’t sleep with anyone.”

“That’s just not true,” I counter, for a second wondering if I imagined all those orgasms.

Again with the eye roll—he’s really good at those. Must have had a lot of practice. “You know what I mean. I sleep with women, but I don’tsleepwith them.”

“Still not understanding.”

“I like to sleepalone. In my bed. Without anyone else.”

“Oh.” That stops my upbeat mood immediately. “Gotcha.”

He tugs me to a wrought iron spiral staircase in a corner of the room that I had somehow missed. “You’re up here.”

We wind up the stairs, with him in the lead. Our footsteps clang like Sunday morning church bells on each metal rung, the sound reverberating in my ears.

Feeling awkward about the bedroom conversation, I try to distract him with chatter. “These stairs are steep. Have you ever fallen down them after one too many glasses of wine?”

He looks back over his shoulder. “I don’t drink often, only when I’m out.”

“You don’t?” I ask, surprised. “Why not?”

“I like to be in control.”

A flashback to how he tied me up. How he bossed me around.

Spread your legs.

“That does seem like you,” I agree, which earns me a quizzical glance.

We reach the bedroom at the top. It’s beautiful, with pristine white walls and a tufted bedspread. Pedestal nightstands painted dove gray flank the bed. A wingback armchair sits in the corner next to a small table and a floor lamp with a cream-colored shade.

There must be something wrong with me, because my first thought upon seeing the white iron frame headboard is to wonder if he can tie me to it.

Stop,I chide myself.You’re roommates now. Maybe he won’t want to do those things with you anymore.

To my surprise, I find this thought even more depressing than the realization that I’ll never be safe in my old apartment again.

Since the staircase is narrow, it takes two trips for Dr. West to bring up my suitcase and bag. He sets them on the floor.

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