Page 70 of Ezra
Even though I wish I’d been brave enough to straddle him and ride him hard until dawn, like I envision when I slip my hand between my legs at night, working my clit so hard multiple times, until it smarts the next day.Yikes. I should probably hydrate more.
But even admitting this all to myself sends me into a spiral of confusion. What am I doing? Here I am, daydreaming about a man I can’t have. There’s a reason he told me to contact him for dangerous reasons only. It doesn’t matter that he’s amazing. That he’s someone who can flip from stoic and hardened andsexyto warm and compassionate and understanding. Heunderstood how I see my future, how it isn’t here in New Carnegie. And he wasn’t going to waste my time.
Except it’s not a waste of time. Not to me. I want to talk to him. We agreed we were friends before; maybe we can stay that way. If I don’t act, I’ll always wonder. I’ll regret it.
Impulsively, I hit the call button on my phone, his name lighting up across the display. I hear one ring tone, but all my courage dissipates.
Maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe it’s not about me. What if this was all his way of telling me he doesn’t want to hear from me? That he’s guarding his own feelings, his own family. Am I being selfish?
“Goddammit, Kat.” I toss my phone down. “Don’t do that again. Have another beer, and let it go.”
I’ve only got one left after Zoey and Bridger visited. Beer has never been enough to really get me drunk, but it takes the edge off. It’s quite late now, so the neighbor downstairs must be at work. I crank up my tunes, picking up where we left off by jamming to songs that are almost a century old. Say what you will about the twenty-first century; it had some decent music.
Relaxing means dancing around my new apartment in nothing but a pair of cotton shorts, an oversized T-shirt, and my socks to slide across the hard floor while I pretend my beer bottle is a microphone. In my head, I’m not here anymore. I’m fantasizing about karaoke night with my friends, maybe being a rock star, or performing in a singing competition. All these things will never happen, of course, because I’m lip syncing and can’t carry a tune to save my life. But no woman in the world can deny that when you have a place to yourself, dancing around to your favorite songs and playing pretend never gets old, whether you’re five years old or fifty-five.
Charlie watches me as he sits on the kitchen island. He taps the countertop to the beat with his two front legs.
“You are so cute.” I giggle. “Good dancing, Charlie!”
I’m doing my best to moonwalk across the floor with my empty bottle in hand when there’s a hard, hurried knock on the door.
My shoulders sag. “Seriously?” I grumble, ambling toward it. “Thought she had work. Totally cramping my style.” I get ready to plaster on a fakeoh, did I bother you againsmile as I swing open the door. “Can I help?—”
My words die in my mouth instantly.
Ezra, dressed in his favorite trench coat with a hat on his head, gives me a once over before arching his eyebrow. His expression isn’t neutral or hard or ferocious. It’s soft. Even amused.
“—you?” I finish awkwardly.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I open my mouth again, but nothing comes out. What do I do? What do I say? My heart is running laps in my chest, so much that the holo-watch on my wrist vibrates to let me know I need to slow down.
“Ezra,” I sputter. “W-what are you doing here?”
“You called me,” he answers.
I’m somewhere between embarrassed and elated, and I’m not sure which. Did he pick up immediately only to hear me end it before it could begin? Calls flow right into his visual feed, right?
My cheeks burn. “I...” I don’t know what to say or how to recover myself. I can’t lie; he’ll know. I’m terrible at it anyway, even if he couldn’t scan me. Sheepishly, I stick with the truth. “I just wanted to talk. See how you were doing.”
“I see.” Ezra studies me. “And the way you do that is to call me and instantly hang up?”
“You got me,” I admit. “I chickened out. I stopped it, thinking you were probably busy.”
“I am,” Ezra replies. “But Deion is finished for the evening, and I don’t remain at the precinct when he’s not there. We’d only just arrived home when I saw your call. When you ended the call so quickly, I was concerned.”
“That I might be in trouble?” I cross my arms with a wince, contrite.Good job, Kat. You were so worried about wasting his time—then you waste it anyway.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m fine. As you can see.” I motion around my apartment.
“I did see,” Ezra agrees, the corner of his mouth slightly turned up. “I heard too. Your windows are open. Enjoying yourself?”
Now I wish I could transport myself through the floor. Dealing with cranky nurse neighbor would be better than this. I cringe, abashed. “You saw me dancing?”
He chuckles. And that fleeting smile anchors me to the floor. “I did. You seem to be doing well.”
