Page 63 of Resisting Fate
“It’s not just me,” she said, dodging the question and not for the first time. “It’s from everyone at church. Everyone contributed toward raising the money.”
“And then you earned even more. You sure you don’t want to work for us?”
She gave him a soft smile. “I love you guys, but I also love my family. The Marinos mean everything to me. They brought me on because they have a long history of family-run business.”
He swallowed hard. Did she just say she lovedhim, or was that just a casual I-love-everyone thing?
She kissed him, a quick peck, and turned back to the TV. He stared straight ahead. Should he tell her he loved her? He was pretty sure that was what had taken over his brain. Why else would he have endured three weeks of blue balls just getting to know her as friends? Why else would he actually enjoy cooking dinner with her when it was normally a dreaded chore? Or enjoy cuddling on the sofa, watching chick flicks? But maybe it was too soon for love. Four weeks and change of intense attraction, maybe more if you counted running into each other and flirting regularly before that.
Maybe this was just advanced lust. They did have a lot of awesome sex this weekend, and he’d spent the night, twice, with zero problem sleeping. He’d only ever spent the night with his ex to avoid a big fight. He supposed he could stop having sex with Missy and see if he still felt good about cuddling and watching chick flicks. That would be a sure sign of love.
Nah.
No good could come from depriving himself. Like he could keep his hands off her. As it was, his hand spanned her flat stomach under her sweater and would be slipping up to the front hook on her bra or down her pants any moment. He hadn’t decided yet. Down the pants would be a fast fuck, which was always awesome, but up to her breasts could be a slow seduction that made her come undone. Decisions, decisions.
Someone pounded on the front door and she jumped.
“You expecting someone?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered.
He untangled himself from her body and stood. “I’ll go see who it is.”
She turned off the TV, her arms crossed.
“Missy!” a man’s voice barked. “Answer the door!”
Ben frowned, turning to Missy. The color drained from her face. “Who is it?” he whispered.
She shook her head, shrinking into the corner of the sofa.
The man pounded so hard the door shook.
“Who is it?” Ben barked at the man.
“Who’re you?” the man asked belligerently.
“What do you want?” Ben hollered.
The doorknob jiggled. The chain was on, but if the guy was big enough and determined enough, he might be able to bust through.
Ben turned to Missy. “Call nine-one-one.”
“No,” she said in a small voice.
He stared at her for a moment. She was visibly shaking, cowering in the corner of the sofa. This was not the Missy he knew. What had this man done to her?
“Go away!” Ben hollered through the door. “We called the cops.” He felt his pockets for his phone. Must’ve fallen out on the sofa. He rushed to the sofa, and Missy leapt out of it like he was about to attack her. “Easy,” he said, holding up his phone.
The idiot outside kept alternating pounding on the door, jiggling the knob, and then throwing his weight against the door. “You owe me!” the man hollered.
Ben had only hit one digit on his phone when Missy ran to the door and yanked it open, the chain preventing it from opening all the way. Ben rushed to her side.
“I owe you nothing!” Missy yelled so loud her voice cracked. “You stole their money, you bastard.”
The man’s tone immediately changed to sweet and coaxing. “Missy, honey, I just need a little to tide me over. You do owe me for putting a roof over your head. Three years of rent ought to cover it.” Ben would bet everything he had that this was Louis, her ex-husband. Three years of rent, three years of marriage, it fit.
Missy slid the chain open so fast, Ben didn’t have time to react. The door opened to a tall, thin man with long greasy black hair hanging in his haggard face. He wore an army jacket and dirty black pants. He looked strung out, needing his next hit, and smelled like he hadn’t showered in a month.
