Jane Doe(36)

“I’m not about to get engaged and start blocking your texts.”

“Okay, good. But it’s still . . . complicated?”

He’s not being too pushy, and I like that. He’s not trying to claim me as his personal property after one week of sex. I can’t tell him the truth, but I can offer him a reasonable lie.

“I’m seeing my boss. The guy who hired me for this project.”

“Is it serious?”

“No. It’s not serious. But breaking it off would cause tension I don’t need. And you and I . . . we just met, Luke.”

“Well, technically we are old friends.”

He’s teasing. His eyes are still smiling. His arms hold me loosely, as if he knows I may get up and leave at any moment, and he’s fine with that.

“I’m not really a relationship type of girl,” I tell him.

“How so?”

“I’m just not good at that stuff.” I don’t know how to say more than that, so I lay my head back on his chest.

“Because of your family?”

Well, yes. I suppose. The latest research on sociopathy hands some blame to genes and some to environment. My parents’ behavior suggests pathological levels of selfishness and carelessness on both their parts. They combined their shitty genes and then ladled on hefty doses of neglect and emotional abuse, and here I am.

“My family is pretty special,” I finally answer.

“Any more trouble from them?” he asks.

“Not tonight.”

“Good.” He kisses the top of my head and we lie comfortably together for a few minutes before I get restless and slide back to my side of the couch.

“You can stay,” he says again.

I don’t like staying. I prefer to leave as soon as the sex is done, yet I’m strangely lethargic and comfortable and I don’t want to get dressed. But we just finished having sex and it’s not time for bed. “What would we do?”

“Anything. Watch another movie? Eat ice cream? Talk?”

I look around and spy a big bookshelf. “Could we just read?”

“Read?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. You want to pick one of my books?”

“I have one with me.”

Luke smiles. “Then we’ll read.”

“Okay, but we can still have ice cream.”

“Obviously.”

“And . . .” I glance toward his bathroom. “I noticed you have a big tub. I really miss my big bathtub in Malaysia.”

He waves a hand. “Bathe away.”

I might invite him to join me. I haven’t decided yet. It might be more fun to let him listen to me splash around hot and naked and then tease the hell out of him until he grabs my wet body and throws me onto the bed.

But, for now, we both curl under the covers and read. I don’t have to think of the right things to say and do. I can just observe others from the distance of the page. I relax and lose myself. Occasionally Luke strokes my foot. I feel like my cat. I like it.





CHAPTER 27

I get up early and sneak away before Luke wakes up. The spell is broken. I’m not a real girl and this coziness was only temporary.

I need to return the rental car today. I can afford to keep it as long as I like, but there’s always the chance Steven will see me driving and ask questions.

He texted at 9:00 last night, but I ignored it. As soon as I get into my apartment, I text back. Sorry, I went to bed early. Just for fun I add: I fell asleep listening to Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul. It’s really good.

Hey! I’m just waking up. Wish you were here.

I could make you breakfast!

That’s not really what I was thinking of.

I send back a goofy-faced emoji. Is that all you think about?

You’re just so sexy, baby.

I think you need to learn more about resisting temptation.

Sure. Send me a pic and I’ll see if I can stay strong.

Pervert!

Send a pic.

I’m not sending a pic! I’m seeing your family tonight!!!

I promise not to show them.

Shut up.

He sends me three pink heart emojis and I guess I’m supposed to melt at that. Whatever. I imagine sending Steven a pic of what Luke did to me after that bath last night, and I giggle so hard, I snort. If I did, Steven would break it off, but let’s be honest, it would turn him on too.

I text him a big, fat red heart and tell him I’ll see him later. Then I turn on my laptop and watch as he masturbates in bed.

He’s looking at his phone as he furiously takes care of business, and I know damn well he isn’t using our text conversation to get off. I wonder what kind of porn he’s into. I’m sure he’ll make me watch it at some point.

After he tugs his pajama pants back up, I review the night’s videos. There’s nothing interesting. He came home and changed into shorts before disappearing into his workout room. When he reappeared, he made a sandwich and then watched TV for a long time.

At 8:30 he got a phone call, and I listen to him counsel one of the parishioners, hoping there will be juicy details, but it’s just a lot of scripture talk about walking alongside Jesus and being a rod of strength for his family even in a financial crisis.

Boring. Still, he’s good at talking the talk. In fact, I think his religious beliefs are sincere. He seems to genuinely care about the parishioner on the other end of the phone. Steven’s problem area is women. And hypocrisy.