Page 98 of House of Cards

Smith puts his water back on the table and leans back to study me. Might be the shadows in the room, but I swear he’s smirking at me. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, kitten.”

“Curiosity.” I point the carrot at him. “Professionalcuriosity. I mean, I’m supposed to be one of them, right?”

He glances at the carrot as I use it to emphasize my point.

“Yet here I am, Rapunzel in her beige tower, and you won’t even let anyone get close enough so I can throw down my hair.”

He frowns at ‘beige’,then shakes his head like he’s dealing with a daft child. “So you’d prefer I shared you?”

If anything, I’m the one pulling mom duty here. “No, Smith, I’d just like to know where the fuck I stand.” Carrot goes left, then right. “Am I supposed to repay my alleged debt, or is this some secret government experiment to see how long I’ll last without sugar before keeling over?”

“You stand exactly where I put you.” He tightens the cross of his arms. “And right now, that’s at my side.”

“For how long, huh? Another week? A month? Forever?”

Smith rocks forward in his seat so fast, I rear back like he’s going to attack me. His voice is quiet, but brutal. “Until the only thing coming out of that smart mouth of yours is, ‘Yes, Sir,’ ‘Please, Sir,’ and ‘May I swallow, Sir?’”

My fork drops to the plate, and I wince at the loud clatter.

Jesus.

Now I remember why me and Smith have barely spoken the past week. Whenever we do, all I’m left with are more questions. And a headache.

Seriously, though, how long have I been at Smith’s side?

I’m losing track of time.

Of myself.

I finally started caring about things again after Mom passed. It all started when Ricky began closing the diner earlier and earlier every night. We always used to stay open until midnight. Then Mom was mugged in the alley, and Ricky started closing at eleven. Ten-thirty.

We lost money, and at first I thought I knew why he was doing it. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Mom. But then he started disappearing for days on end, and when he came back, he’d insist we close even sooner.

There was no arguing with him. He’d pull ‘big brother’ rank every time, and I was too broken back then to put up a fight.

But then he disappeared for an entire week, one of the quietest we’d had in months, and I took matters into my own hands and kept the diner open until midnight.

Should have listened to him.

If I’d stuck to Ricky’s rules, the diner would have been closed by the time Buzzcut came knocking, and I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.

“Whatever,” I mutter, inhaling a deep, calming breath—that turns into a coughing fit when I inhale a piece of carrot that hasn’t made it all the way down my throat.

Smith bolts to his feet, snatching a bottle of water from the tray that arrived with dinner, but I wave him away, letting out one last hard cough to clear the obstruction.

Which clears a whole different obstruction I hadn’t—but should’ve—been aware of.

“No,” I whisper as heat floods my faceandthe crotch of my definitely-no-longer-beige panties.

I rush to my feet, turning to face Smith as I shuffle toward the bathroom without moving my thighs.

“You okay?” he frowns at me, taking a wary step closer, hand outstretched.

“Yeah.” I wave him away, trying to ignore how panicked I sound. “Yeah!”

I slam the bathroom door closed and hurry to the toilet, my stomach sinking when I tug down my sweats and see the mess in my panties.

Right on time, if a little heavier than usual. Usually, I get a cramp or two before I start, but this time…nothing.

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