She sets the clipboard down. “Don’t be naive, Lucky.”
“Fine. Forget I asked.”
“No, I won’t forget it. Where did you meet this friend?”
“What makes you think they’re not someone I’ve known my whole life?”
Her stare is direct and cynical. “Are they?”#p#分页标题#e#
I shrug. “It’s no big deal if you don’t want me to bring anyone here.”
She plays with her pen for a minute. “It’s not up to me. You asked. I’ll run it upstairs, see of there are objections to you having a male friend over.”
I bite the snappy comeback off my tongue and swallow it. I’ve been a little cranky since I woke up and found Q gone and another hundred thousand sitting on the dresser. In the space of five days, I’ve made more money than I know I’ll make at any other point in my life. I don’t even care about the stigma attached to how I came by it.
No, what’s got me cranky is the way my heart feels…bruised each time I think of Q. How can I have such weighty feelings for a faceless stranger? The way I felt two days ago in South Carolina, when I woke up and Stephanie told me he’d left, disturbed the hell out of me. Those feelings doubled this morning when I woke up to an empty bed. How can his absence leave me with a hollow feeling inside when I don’t even know what he looks like, what his real name is?
What baffles me even more is that I have similar feelings towards Quinn, the man who’s barely touched me, never mind fucked me.
A part of me admits the feelings are attachment borne out of the circumstances I find myself in. Quinn, Fionnella and Q are the only people I’ve had the most prolonged contact with in the past five, harrowing weeks. Out of those three, one is becoming a friend, one is fucking me and the other is mind-fucking me. And in some weird way, I’m getting addicted to the friendship and both brands of fucking.
My mind skates over the conversation with Quinn last night, and the desire to see him again intensifies. So instead of telling Fionnella once again to forget I asked, I look at her, smile and say, “That would be great. Thanks.”
She gives me a peculiar smile in return, and goes back to her clipboard. “Your weight is much improved. How do you feel generally?”
“Great.”
She ticks a box, then looks at me. Her eyes are speculative. “Anything on your mind you want to talk about?”
I tense. “Not particularly, no.”
Did Q mention Clay to her? If so, what is she going to do about it? What can she do about it? The fact that she’s here, conducting her routine check-in suggests nothing has changed. But then, what do I know?
“When will I be returning to South Carolina?” I ask, trying to read her face.
She gives nothing away. “You won’t be.”
My breath catches and I lose my appetite. “Is…something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. The boss has commitments in the city, so there’s been a change of venue, that’s all.”
Relief eases through me. “Oh, right.” I stare around the loft, but I can’t see any obvious changes to the layout. “Will he be meeting me here from now on?”
“No.”
“He was here last night.”
A flicker of something crosses her face, but it’s gone almost instantly. “It’s his place, Lucky. He can come and go as he pleases. Just as you can. No need to stay cooped up in here all day.” Her gaze probes mine, and I’m thinking she does know what I let slip last night.
I get up from the counter, take my bowl to the sink to avoid looking at her. “I don’t like the cold. No need to go out if I don’t have to.”
“It’s not that cold today. Besides, you have warm clothes. I can organize a car service for you if you want.”
I pour the uneaten cereal down the garbage disposal and turn on the tap. “No, thanks. I’m good.”#p#分页标题#e#
“Are you?”
My spine tenses ten times harder than before. I grab a sponge and scrub the bowl. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
She stays silent for a short spell. Then sighs. “Okay, Lucky. Have it your way.” I’m not sure why there’s a hint of sadness in that response.
I look over my shoulder, but she’s gathering her things, shoving them into her giant bag. She looks at me as she hitches the strap over her shoulder. Her smile is back. Only this time, after witnessing a few variations of it, I can spot the cracks.
There’s tightly furled grief. Icily controlled anger. Determination.
My gaze stays on her as she makes her way to the door. I want to say something, but I don’t. We’re all, in our own way, locked in compartmentalized codes of silence we dare not breach.