Page 4 of The Toy Collector

Rooted to the floor, I trace the shape of her mouth like it’s already wrapped around my cock. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch, and my jaw tightens with the restraint it takes not to cross the room and pull her up by the wrist. To press her into the wall and feel her gasp against my throat.

“I’m sorry it took so long, but I’m ready now.”

When I don’t immediately react to the words, a small hand grazes my shoulder. I whirl around, a growl building in my throat. As I come face-to-face with the wide-eyed barista, I quickly school my features.

“No problem,” I say smoothly.

“Did you still want me to take a message?” she asks, her eyelashes fluttering.

I nod, confirming I very much do.

Georgetown is not an area of D.C. I frequent. But today, I had a face-to-face meeting with Senator Jacobs’ fixer, Mr. Shein. The thought of that unofficial job title makes me want to laugh. It’s the irony of all fucking irony.

If the fixer really did what he was supposed to, I wouldn’t have needed to drag my ass from my building in Foggy Bottom all the way here. And if Mr. Shein hadn’t been late, I never would have been at the counter at Carroway Café, never having asked the barista to give Mr. Shein a message from me upon arrival.

Having my world flipped upside down, I don’t feel inconvenienced anymore. I feel fucking grateful. “Please tell Mr. Shein to call me so we can reschedule,” I say, feeling pretty fucking generous.

When I first asked to leave a message, I was going to ask him to fuck off and never bother me again. But now… now I feel like I owe him one.

Looking back over at where the woman was sitting, I find she’s gone.

Fuck.

Chapter 2

Piper

Ibarely make it into my off-campus apartment before my phone rings again. As soon as I accept the video call, my uncle’s face comes into view.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” he sings, badly. “Happy birthday dear Pipeeerrrr. Happy birthday to you.”

I laugh, even though it comes out tired. “You’re still tone deaf.”

“Untrue and offensive,” he replies with mock gravity. “And here I was just about to ask if my favorite niece needed anything topped up in her trust this month.”

“I’m your only niece.”

“Exactly. The competition is fierce.”

I drop my bag on the floor and collapse onto the charcoal-gray colored couch that sits against the far wall.

Uncle Teddy is calling from his kitchen. I spot the old shelves behind him, cluttered with mismatched mugs and too many condiments. There’s a bottle of whiskey just off-camera. Of course there is.

He’s still in his wrinkled Henley and reading glasses, salt-and-pepper hair sticking up like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Unshaven, warm-eyed, and always two seconds from making a wildly inappropriate joke—he looks exactly the same as always. Like home, in human form.

“You good, kid?” he asks. “Is the political hellscape still intact?”

“I’m fine.” I pull my legs up beneath me. “Classes started today. I need to get myself an internship, but I’m working on it.”

He raises his glass in a toast I can’t fully see. “Just don’t kill yourself trying to impress people who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

I snort. “Inspirational, as always.”

“What can I say? I give TED Talks in parking lots.”

There’s a beat of quiet—not awkward, just familiar. Then he asks what I knew was coming. “Didtheycall?”

I don’t answer right away. I look around the room instead, anywhere but at the screen.

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