I pulled off the sweatpants that were still lingering around her ankles. She looked up at me with glassy eyes, like stopping me was the last thing she wanted to do.
That’s when I snapped out of it. My game was turning toxic. I breathed in hard through my nose. I could take her now. She’d let me. But, that wouldn’t be fair. I was manipulating her. She’d be angry with me after — she’d fold in on herself and I’d lose her. I just needed her to acknowledge me.
“Who owns you?”
She licked her lips. Her hands were locked on my arms. I could feel slight pressure as she pulled me toward her. She was silently asking me. I held back — she’d taught me how. She shook her head, not understanding.
I hunted her eyes down, forced her to see me.
I put a hand over her chest. I could feel her heart … pounding for me.
I want her. I want her. I want her. Please, Olivia. Please let me have you…
“Who owns you?”
Her eyes liquefied. She understood. Her body went limp.
“You,” she said softly.
Her vulnerability, her body, her hair — it was all turning me on. I had never in my life wanted a woman more than I wanted her.
I threw my head back, closed my eyes and rolled off of her.
Don’t look at her. If you look at her again you’ll land up inside of her.
“Thank you.”
And then I left as quickly as I could to take a cold, cold shower.
She wouldn’t look at me for a week after.
My cell phone rings. I crack open an eye. There is no light filtering through the blinds, which means it’s either too fucking late or too fucking early to be calling. I hit answer and crush the phone to my ear.
“‘Lo.”
“Caleb?”
I sit up in bed and glance over at Jessica to see if I’ve woken her. She’s sleeping on her stomach, her face hidden by her hair.
“Yeah?” I rub my eyes and pull my knees up.
“It’s me.”
It takes me a few beats to figure out who “me” is.
“Olivia?”
I glance at the clock and see it’s 4:49. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear. Before she says another word, I have my pants on and am reaching for my shoes.
“Caleb, I’m sorry … I didn’t know who to call.”
“Don’t say sorry, just tell me what’s up.”
“It’s Dobson,” she says. Her words are jumbled and rushed. “He’s been sending me letters for a year. He broke out of Selbet last night. The police think he’s coming here.”
I break away from my phone to pull a shirt over my head.
“Where’s Noah?”
There is silence on the other end of the line and I think she’s hung up.
“Olivia?”
“Not here.”
“All right,” I say. “All right. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
I wake Jessica up and tell her where I’m going.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, barely opening her eyes.
“No, it’s fine.”
I kiss her temple and she collapses back against her pillow in relief. I can smell salt in the air when I step out of the elevator and into the garage. You can always smell the ocean the strongest earlier in the day when the car exhausts and general human pollution hasn’t woken up for the workday yet.
It takes me thirty minutes to reach Sunny Isles Beach where her condo rises above all of the others, one side overlooking the city, and the other overlooking the ocean. It’s the only residential building with reflective glass on the outside. When I walk into the lobby, the night manager looks me over like he’s deciding if my name is Dobson and I’ve just escaped from crazy town.
“Mrs. Kaspen has given us strict orders that no one is to be let up,” he says.
“Call her,” I say, pointing at the phone.
Just then I hear her voice behind me. “It’s all right, Nick.”
I turn, and she’s walking toward me. She’s dressed in white yoga pants and a matching hoodie. She has the hood pulled over her hair, but some of her waves are peeking through, framing her anxious face. I do what comes naturally. I cross to where she is in two strides and pull her against me. She buries her face in my chest so that she can barely breathe and hooks her arms up instead of around. This is how we’ve always hugged. She called it the Upper Cut. In college she would always say, ’Upper cut me, Caleb.’ People would look at us like I was getting ready to hit her.
“Are you afraid?” I say to the top of her head.
She nods into my chest. “Dis is wot I ucking get.” She’s muffled, so I lift her chin. Her mouth is a few inches away from mine. I remember how soft her lips are and have to fight back the urge to taste her. Which brings me to the most important question.