Page 32 of Based on You

"Can you do me a huge favor?" she asked, lingering in the doorway.

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Can you come with me tomorrow morning to confront my landlord? I can't go alone. I doubt he'll take me seriously."

I stopped just inside the room and looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

She walked past me into the bedroom and looked around. A decent size, spotless, the bed freshly made. She studied it a few seconds before turning back to face me, her expression grim.

"My landlord is a very traditional man," she said, flat, no heat in it. "If I show up and confront him about why he illegally changed the locks, I doubt he'd even apologize. Women get taken a lot more seriously when there's a man standing right beside them."

I nodded, the ugly truth of it settling in. "I'm sorry," I said, apologizing like the whole crooked architecture of the world was somehow mine to answer for. "Whatever you need. I'd be glad to help you handle him."

She offered a small, tired smile. "Thank you, Simon."

I turned to leave, then stopped. I pivoted back. "There's a fresh robe hanging in the bathroom. And if you want something comfortable to sleep in, I can get you a pair of my pajamas. They've got to be better than sleeping in that dress."

She looked down at her wrinkled work clothes, then nodded, grateful. "Thank you, sir."

"You're in my house now. Drop the 'sir.' Call me Simon. You can go back to 'sir' tomorrow when we're at work."

She smiled, worn out, and agreed. I went to my own room, walked into my closet, and grabbed a pair of sky-blue pajamas off the second shelf without really looking. I carried them back to her room, knocked on the door frame, and waited for her okay before stepping inside. I held the folded clothes out to her.

"They're mine. I hope they're comfortable enough."

She took them and looked down a long moment, running her thumb across the weave of the fabric. "They're so soft. I'm sure I'll like them."

I was unreasonably pleased by that.

"So, we've officially crossed another boundary," she said, a hint of teasing back in her voice.

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Have we?"

"Not only am I spending the night in your private house, I'll be sleeping in clothes you've worn." She raised her eyebrows in challenge. "That's pretty intimate, Mr.—Simon."

"You make it sound like I just handed you something scandalous."

"Isn't it?"

I couldn't deny it. Wearing my clothes was its own kind of intimacy, and I also happened to have a spare pair, and the two facts sat side by side in my head without canceling each other out.

"Don't you want to wear them?" My voice dropped.

"What's my alternative?" she mused. "Sleep naked, or keep this stiff dress on."

I froze.

The words landed, and my brain did the thing I hadn't given it permission to do. I pictured her sleeping naked in the guest bed down the hall. I pictured what she looked like under that buttoned-up dress.

The hidden tattoo she'd mentioned at the restaurant came to mind, and then the second one, the one I hadn't seen, and I had no idea where either of them sat on her body. Was the first one at the small of her back, right where someone standing behind her would catch it? Was the second somewhere lower, somewhere only ever visible in a context I had no business imagining?

I cleared my throat, desperate to break the spell.

"Well." My voice came out tight. "Get some sleep, Violet. I'll see you in the morning."

She nodded. I all but fled her room, pulling the door closed behind me, and retreated to the safety of my own.

I shut the door and stood in the dark a long moment, heat moving through me.