Page 6 of From the Shadows

“You okay?”

No hello. No greeting of any kind. Just two little words that send an unholy zing down my spine.

“Well, hello, Eddie. It is so lovely to hear your voice.” My fingers shake as I type in the code to my back door. I should have waited to call him. Should have gotten inside first, stripped out of my work clothes and grabbed a glass of wine. Really prepared myself for the symphony of sighs.

And there it is…

Air rushes through the phone speaker, and I can almost feel his lips skate the shell of my ear, his breath hot and melancholy drifting down my neck. I definitely should have waited, run myself a bath, and grabbed my favorite toy. Enjoyed this conversation one-handed.

“For the love of fucks, will you answer the question? Are you okay?” Yearning, or maybe it’s exasperation, laces each of his questions.

I like it.

“I’m perfectly adequate, thank you for asking. How are you doing this fine evening? Still sitting in your dark office, wallowing in the gloom of lawyer-ey nonsense?”

Sigh.

“My office is not dark and gloomy,” he says, all kinds of defensive, as if I’ve attacked him on a personal level. So thoroughly swoon.

I give him a noncommittal hum to chew on as I picture him sitting behind that big old desk and wait for him to answer me.

“And you’ve only been there, what, once? Maybe twice? It’s not that dark.”

A laugh huffs out of me on an airy breath, one that I wish would send chills skating down his spine the way hearing his breath in my ear does for me.

“Eddie, your office decor is literally dark academia. It’s soothing and moody and warm and has the most perfect vibe possible. Are you still there?”

“No, I’m⁠—”

“You sent an awful lot of messages in a short amount of time. You okay, big guy?” Am I bouncing topics, skipping trains of thought before the current one fully stops at the station? I am, with my whole chest and a healthy dose of my ass as well. Because, wait for it… wait for it…

Sigh. “Jessaline, stop.”

I roll my lips between my teeth and fight back the twisted glee I get from driving him mad.

“Where are you?” he demands. Gone is his vexation with me, and here, now, large-and-in-charge and fully in control of the situation is the daunting, slightly audacious man of my dreams.

Tension thrives in the space between his lordly demand and my gasped, “Home.”

“Are you alone?”

Dear sweet baby alfalfa sprouts, the things that single question do to me. “I am.” I press my palm to my sternum, décolletage, and try, try, try to pull myself together. “Why do you ask?”

Heat crawls up my body in the most delicious way. And while I know deep in my soul that he’s not asking what I want him to be asking, I consider the distance between his place and mine and prioritize the tasks that need to be accomplished in that time. My sheets are clean, but the kitchen counter should be cleared and wiped down—just in case—and I definitely need a shower. A bath would be better, and a glass of wine, maybe a shot of something stronger…

“Jesus Christ, are you even listening?”

“I… No. I drifted off for a second there, checking my to-do list.” Kind of. Sort of.

“To-do list,” he repeats, as if he’s not at all shocked that I’ve hopped to something else in my head. “I saw you get pulled over today. That cop is a piece of shit; I wanted to make sure you were good. That he didn’t give you a hard time. And you’re over there blowing me off for some fucking list.”

Gawd, the things he says without even knowing he’s giving me all the dirty tingles. “Aww, Eddie, aren’t you sweet? I’m good”—though I’d be better if he were here. “Dusty didn’t give me a hard time”—Eddie could, though, and I would beg him to make it harder—“and I would never, ever blow you off. Unless you asked nicely.”

This sigh might be my new favorite because it’s accompanied by the unmistakable rasp of his palm sliding down his face and a mumbled, “Fuck.”

Silence sits between us, only punctuated by the creak of his chair and a soft thud. I imagine it’s his elbows hitting his desk or maybe his head, though I hope I don’t send him like that.

“Wait—”