Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(56)

“Something’s standing at attention all right,” he jokes, and before I say anything, he continues. “I hate that she has to work a day job. A night job. A job that doesn’t suit her.”

“I’m sure she does, too, because she’d rather be with you.”

“And I hate that she has to meet with random men at all hours of the night. It’s not safe.”

“I’m at the club. It’s safer than most places.”

“But meeting the man after . . . I don’t like that in the least.”

“Becoming overprotective, are we?” I ask, all the while secretly loving that someone is. That someone cares. “Besides, you know this person because you referred him to her back in the days when you were trying to apologize by referral.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“I’m not.” I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. “But like I said, you referred him my way, so I’m pretty sure he’s safe.”

“Who is it?” he asks.

“You know I can’t answer that,” I say with a sigh.

“Why are you meeting him so late? What time do you get off?”

“He’s nervous and doesn’t want anyone to see us together. He’s afraid I’m an undercover cop, I think.”

“The irony.”

“I know, right?”

Silence falls for a beat before he carries on. “I still don’t like it that you have to meet with men on your own.”

“I can take care of myself just fine.” I say the words but realize now that he’s in my life, I hate these meetings with clients more and more with each passing day. The thrill is gone. The risk I’m taking with each and every one is more and more evident.

“Maybe I want to take care of you instead.”

I let the silence float on the line as his words take root and then cause a panic to settle in. The fear of needing him—of wanting to need him—is so new and foreign that it causes my palms to sweat and words to falter.

“Let me pick you up after work and bring you home,” he finally says to break the silence that’s not hard to miss.

“I’ll text you during my shift. I’m not sure what time I’ll be off. There’s a huge private party tonight that might run long. If it’s not too late, then we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t blow me off, Vaughn.”

“Good night, Ryker.”

And when I end the call, I sit and stare out the window of my office for a minute, my ears hearing the neighborhood boys playing their usual game of baseball but not really listening to them. My attention is pulled to the picture of Samantha and me on the bookshelf to my left. It’s crooked in its spot; I must have knocked it askew when I came in last night to shuffle through my desk for my paperwork. I reach out and straighten it, the ache in my chest over missing her still as prevalent as the day I found out she was gone.

I wonder what the sober her would say about all of this. Wicked Ways. Ryker Lockhart. The senator. Would she be proud of me for fighting so hard to keep the only piece of her I have left—Lucy? Would she like Ryker, or would she tell me to walk away without looking back?

With a shake of my head to clear the questions I’ll never get answers to, I glance at my stack of college applications on the opposite corner of my desk.

Hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention when I see Birmingham University’s application on top when I swear Stony Brook was there last night.

I glance around my office in an unexpected panic, suddenly creeped out that someone has been here snooping through my things. The crooked photo, the reshuffled college applications to get my teaching credential—what else is off other than just the general feeling that is disturbing me?

I wouldn’t put it past Carter to break into my house to try to find the call log.

“You’re losing your mind, Vaughn,” I mutter into the empty room, convincing myself that I was so tired last night when I was working that I easily could have moved the stuff.

I probably switched the order when I was double-checking all the information I entered on the applications to make sure I didn’t make any errors.

College. A teaching degree.

I shake my head. The possibility is a little more real now that I’m about to submit my applications. I wonder what a normal life would be like for me? What does that feel like? What is it like to be safe and cared for by someone other than my mom and Samantha?

Maybe I want to take care of you instead.

It’s Ryker’s words again in my head. It’s the tone in which he said it that wraps around my heart—sincere, caring, proud.

This is real, Vaughn. Men like Ryker don’t say shit like that unless they mean it.

He’s already gotten the sex, so there’s no need to make promises and say words he doesn’t mean to get you into bed when you’re already there willingly.

The big question is, Why is this notion causing me such panic? Didn’t I already know there’s so much more between us? Isn’t this why I was so upset about the Hamptons and everything after? Or was I just waiting for it to fall to shit? And when it didn’t, I was subconsciously thinking I’d self-sabotage it so it wouldn’t work.

Because I don’t deserve this. A man who wants to take care of me. Not that I’d let him—not in a million years, because that would mean my independence would be tied to reins—but because this is so different and new, and it scares the shit out of me.