Chapter 9

If he schedules again, I’ll have to tell him look, I never schedule a fourth appointment. Not with him, not with anyone. I almost want to say something now—it’s on the tip of my tongue, the need to tell him like a pressure growing in my chest—but I don’t. He’s so relaxed, and he keeps turning that smile on me like a spotlight. I don’t want to ruin this. Us

So I swallow back the words and, when I do speak, it’s just to ask, “What’s hanging?”

As if I don’t know.

* * * *

Back in the guest room again. Ryan appears to be wearing the same sweatpants as last time, but he has a worn T-shirt on, too. His wallet is already on the dresser, and as I close the door behind us, he pulls out not one but two crisp fifty dollar bills. “How much will this buy me?” he asks with a grin.

I move towards him, already reaching for the waistband of his sweats. “You want me to blow you?”