Page 24 of From Air

I hum while sipping my water. “I might be more ruthless. Actually, he can be charming.”

Sexy. Downright irresistible.

Maren inspects me through narrowed eyes like I’m speaking a different language.

The front door creaks open.

“Speaking of,” she whispers.

I peer over my shoulder at Fitz. He eyes me and then Maren. “Talking about me?”

“Well, I’m going to shower. Thanks for the pizza, Jamie.” Maren saunters past Calvin and playfully nudges him.

He squints at her, but he also relinquishes a tiny grin. When his attention shifts to me on his way to the kitchen, I scramble. After tossing my napkin in the trash and emptying my water glass, I nod to the pizza box. “There’s two slices left, if you want them.”

He lifts the lid and inspects them before eyeing me. “What did you do to them?” He sets the empty cookie container on the counter.

“Do to them?”

“Yes. What did you do to them?” He steps past me, snatching a kombucha from the fridge. “Poison? Pubes?”

“Pubes?” I suppress my laughter. “I’ve spent my life in a bikini, Fitz. I don’t have pubes to spare for your pizza.”

Fitz turns, removing the lid. He doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide where his eyes are pointed or the wolfish grin taking up residency on his face.

“I feel thoroughly violated.” I find a toothy grin.

In its own sweet time, his gaze crawls up my body.

Fuck him. Really. Could he be more obvious? Is this payback for my visit to his work?

Is this a test?

He’s toying with me, causing me to overheat just to make me blush so he can reveal his victorious smirk. I reject his smirk—no victory for him.

“Were you abandoned?” I blurt out before he can focus on my red cheeks.

“Excuse me?” His brow knits tightly.

“I heard you’re dating a blow-up doll. That screams abandonment. Are your parents still alive? Did you get dumped by your one true love? Did your family dog get hit by a car?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

No words.

Not even a blink.

It’s just me and Fitz’s unreadable expression.

Finally, he blows out a slow breath and stares at his feet. “She’s not inflatable. Her name is Mrs. Wilke, after my parents’ old neighbor who touched me inappropriately the summer I turned fourteen. She invited me over to discuss payment for mowing her yard. She told me to sit on the sofa while she fetched her purse. When she returned, she asked me if I liked her dress. I shrugged. Then she said it was made of the softest cotton her skin had ever felt. And she asked me if I wanted to feel it.

“I shrugged again. In the next breath, she grabbed my hand and guided it up her arm and then down the inside for some serious sideboob action, holding itthere. And she said, ‘How does that feel, Calvin?’”

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. And Calvin’s frown deepens with each word as his eyes narrow at the floor between us.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs one shoulder and sighs. “So I named my sex doll Mrs. Wilke. And when I fuck her, I say, ‘How does that feel, Mrs. Wilke?’”

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