“Of course,” he said.
“Do you know how it feels?”
There was the slightest pause, and then he said, “I do.”
“So you don’t just use it on women, you’ve actually—”
“Yes.”
The thought eased me somewhat. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the fact that I liked the sensation of being flogged. Granted, I hadn’t actually been flogged, but Cole had made it seem so real. So vibrant, and I couldn’t help but believe that I’d responded the way I would when I truly felt the sting of the leather.
Knowing that he understood the sensation as well made me feel less self-conscious about all this stuff I was learning about myself. “I’m glad,” I said. “I’m glad you like it, too.”
“I need it,” he said, his voice flat and even. And then, before I could ask what he meant by that, he added, “Evan’s here. I have to go.”
The call went dead, and I leaned back against the seat, still breathing hard, my skin still stinging sweetly from the flogging. I felt aroused and deliciously used.
Most of all, I felt cherished.
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that whatever was happening between Cole and me would continue to grow. Because now that he’d gotten inside me, I wasn’t entirely sure how I would manage without him.
I don’t remember ever going to Perk Up in a better mood. Within fifteen minutes, Glenn had managed to completely bring me down.
“Do you really think the customers want to hear you humming?” he asked me as I filled two cups with coffee for one of the regulars.
“I don’t know why they’d mind,” I countered.
“Hot date last night?” Sarah—the regular—asked.
I just smiled, too much of a lady to kiss and tell.
Sarah winked as she took her coffee, and I returned to restocking the small fridge where we kept lemon slices and cream.
As soon as Sarah was gone and there were no other customers lingering within earshot, Glenn clomped to me and put his hands on his hips. “That is exactly what I’m talking about. No one wants to hear about your sex life.”
I looked up at him, a little indignant, a little confused, and a whole lot pissed off. “I didn’t say a word about sex,” I countered.
“And you damn well better not.” He pointed at the fridge. “Spotless,” he said. “And I need you to open tomorrow.”
I gaped at him. “I’m off tomorrow.”
“Not anymore.”
I stood up, accidentally kicking over a pitcher of iced coffee in the process.
“Aw, Christ, Katrina. Clean that mess up, too, and hurry up about it. We’re gonna be getting all the students any minute now.”
I ignored the growing puddle of coffee. “I’m closing on my house tomorrow. I’ve had tomorrow scheduled off for weeks now.”
“Beth quit. Got a job filing at some law firm. That makes you the next in line.”
“Dammit, Glenn, I can’t.”
He stared at me. “Fine. What time is your closing?”
“Ten.”
“You come here, you open. I’ll relieve you at nine-thirty. You come back by eleven-thirty.” He raised his hands in anticipation of my protest. “Best I can do.”
On the one hand, I wanted to kill him. On the other, I thought the fact that he remained alive said a lot about my incredible powers of self-control.
“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get this house? How much it means to me?”
“And you should remember that they don’t give mortgages to the unemployed. Do your thing and then get your tush back here and clock in.”
“Glenn,” I said sweetly, “do you know what I like about you?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”
“Not a goddamn thing.” And then, with as much flourish as I could manage, I yanked off my Perk Up apron, tossed it at his face, and marched out the door.
fourteen
I didn’t have a reason to go by the house, but Glenn had pissed me off enough that I wanted to see it. Maybe I wanted reassurance that it was real and that tomorrow it would be mine.
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that I let myself in again, then stood at the center of the dingy room with the dingy walls and thought about all of this hidden potential.
And there was so much, I thought. Like people, so much of a property lay hidden beneath the surface.
I’d tried to say as much to Cyndee on a day when she’d been dragging me all over the city, looking at dozens of cookie-cutter houses with neutral-tone walls, flowers in just the right places. Fresh paint, fresh carpet.
Pretty, but sterile.
And I couldn’t help but wonder what evils those fresh coats of paint hid. Or what gateways to hell lurked under the safely beige rug.
Maybe it’s just the way I was raised, but the whole process of staging and showing, praising and selling seemed just one small step away from the grift. A short con that no one ever complained about. Set the stage, bring in the pigeon, and take the completely legitimate commission.
The process had a certain beauty that I admired, and the job had the kind of lifestyle that appealed. No countertop to trap you, no manager who smelled faintly of rotten milk yelling at you.
The possibility had been teasing me for a few weeks now, and the pull was getting stronger and stronger.
It was like what I’d told Sloane about Cole. Eventually, I was just going to have to go after it.
I grinned. Going after Cole had worked out well. Maybe that was a sign that a job selling real estate was where I should land.
“First things first,” I said, with a quick pat to the floor. “Tomorrow morning at ten, you’re mine.” And why did I know for certain that buying this house was the absolute right move for me? Because I didn’t feel even the slightest bit foolish talking out loud to it.
I spent another hour poking around the house, measuring, taking notes, thinking about all the things I had to buy—in addition to the house itself—simply to make my meager amount of stuff fit into this tiny space. I planned to hit both Home Depot and The Container Store after the closing tomorrow. And then I’d spend the afternoon in the blissful haze of that lovely state known as home ownership.
After that, I’d see about finding another job. My job at Perk Up might have been crappy, but I’d been counting on the minuscule paycheck to cover the mortgage.