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I drop onto the couch, stretching my legs out. The open-plan space seems far emptier than usual as if I’m waiting for a woman to move in here and pretty the place up some, but not just a woman, my woman.
“That sounds like an excuse,” Kenny says. “If those bastards called a bomb threat into her building, they already think you care, and you can’t blame them. Years of not being seen with any woman, and now you’re suddenly renting an expensive apartment for one.”
“Yeah, it’s a sign, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Okay, smartass, it’s a sign, but it doesn’t mean I can…”
“What, Luke?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
The moment I saw her in the café across the street, my world clicked into place, puzzle pieces I didn’t even know existed slotting together, but it’s not like me to talk deeply about my emotions. I can’t even begin to outline all the need rising inside me, taking hold of me like a spiritual possession. That was why I had to run from Jane.
“Try,” Kenny says after a pause.
I shake my head. “I’m helping her. That’s enough.”
“Have you kissed?”
That draws a smirk out of me. “You sound like a high schooler.”
“Well, let’s gossip then.” He grins. “Have you?”
“Yeah,” I admit, “and… more, but it was bad.”
“The kiss was bad?”
“No, my lack of control. It was like this switch got flipped, and I no longer had control. She called it beast mode.”
“Maybe try taking her on a date, somewhere public, somewhere you can’t lose control.”
I laugh grimly. “But then we’re back to the Russian problem.”
“But if they already know—or suspect—then why does it matter? Surely you’ll have a full security detail.”
“You seem determined for me to take her out.”
Just then, Jenny comes toddling into his office. His five-year-old has a giant grin on her face, her braided hair bouncing around her shoulders as she jumps into her father’s lap.
“Daddy, Daddy, are you coming into the pool?”
“Soon, sweetheart,” Kenny says, kissing her on the cheek.
“Hey, Uncle Luke,” Jenny says, waving at the camera.
“Hey, little lady.”
When I wave back, my heart gives an insistent shiver. Of course, I’ve always felt warm toward my friend’s children, but this is a new feeling. I imagine what it would feel like to have my daughter sitting on my knee, with my woman’s curly hair, smile, and shine in her eyes.
“Are you going to visit again soon?”
I was there last year. With a grin, I nod.
“As soon as I can.”
“Yippee!”
“I’ll be out in a sec,” Kenny says, kissing her again.
She hops from his knee and toddles away.
“You owe it to yourself to take her out,” Kenny says. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. Anybody could see that, but first, I think you owe her an apology.”
“I was thinking the same.”
“You just left her there. She must be wondering what’s going on, especially after you went beast mode.”
“You’re right. I guess I thought I could stay away from her.”
“How realistic is that?” he asks. “How long has it been?”
“A few hours.”
“And you haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”
“You’re a goddamn mind reader.”
Even that is an understatement. Not being able to stop thinking about her implies I’ve tried to do that, but I haven’t. She’s lived nonstop in my thoughts, and that’s how I want it to be: her smile, her smoking body, and the sympathy in her eyes.
“What time is it there? Eleven p.m.?”
“On the dot. You should win a prize.”
“She might still be awake.”
I nod. This is one reason it’s good to have a best friend. He can give me a nudge when I need it.
“I’m going to call her now,” I say. “Nice speaking as usual. Have fun in the pool.”
“I intend to,” he replies, grinning. He’s one hell of an advert for selling my shares and settling down.
Once the conversation is over, I procrastinate for a while. I wasn’t honest when I told Kenny I thought I could forget her, but there’s some truth. This obsession is terrifying, fiercer even than my love of computers when I was a kid, except I don’t want to tinker with electronics.
I want to take apart my woman emotionally and learn everything about her, how she works, what makes her tic, all of it so we can build a strong foundation for the rest of our lives. I’m finally about to call her—my cell phone is in my hand—when the cell rings. It’s Christopher.
“Sir,” he says, his voice taut.
“What’s wrong? Is Jane safe?”
“Yes, sir, she’s here with me, but I’m unsure what to do.”
In the background, I hear her voice raised. “You can’t keep me here against my will. Are you going to stop me physically? That’s assault. You can’t do that.”
“She wants to leave,” Christopher says. “I know you said to stop her, but you also told me not to restrain her physically.”
