I debate texting versus calling, but I need to see her face. When she answers the video call, something warm settles in my chest. I don’t even have a reason for calling her beyond simply wanting to be in her orbit for a while. I guess that means we’re dating now.
“Hey, Spark.” There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and she looks . . . sad.
“You okay? Tough day?”
She sighs and flops her head on a pillow on her sofa. “Meh.”
All thoughts of talking dirty fly out of my head. Instead, I want to know what’s going on. “Tell me, little chick. You hurting?”
“Feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“Funny.”
She shrugs. “Thomas and Michael, my younger brothers, came today, and it brought up some stuff for me. You met Thomas when he carried me from your pool table.”
I’d forgotten about that guy, but I’m glad he’s a relative rather than competition. “I remember. What stuff did it bring up?”
“When Dad died, we were facing foster care or worse, and with Michael being autistic, I worried what could happen to him if we weren’t with him. I begged Cillian to take care of us so we could stay a family, but I guess I didn’t realize what I was doing back then. I sometimes wonder if we’d all have been better separated, but away from him.”
I lie back on Whip’s bed. “Cillian’s an asshole.”
She huffs. “I’ll let you tell him that. And he can be. Some days, I think he just sees us all as pawns.” She pauses for a moment, and from the way she presses her fingers to her lips, I wonder if she feels like she said too much. “But in some ways, he isn’t. And that’s what makes it hard. He provides Michael with so much extra expert support that costs a lot of money.”
“It’s a solid way of laundering cash,” I say, and she rolls her eyes even though she must’ve had that thought herself.
“So, Michael showed up?”
“Yeah. Thomas brought him on the train because he’s obsessed with train schedules and stations. It’s great for him to lean into that fun and adventure while learning to be as autonomous as possible. But people stare and can be dicks.”
I know that sense of worry. When younger kids came into my unit. Their first day out on patrol, I had to bury the urge to walk them through every step. Check that doorway. Don’t forget to look up at spires and windows. Never take anything that glints or reflects in the sun for granted. But you have to let them find their own way and focus on your shit.
“The world can be a cruel place. I get that.”
“Yeah. I guess you do.”
I don’t like the way she says that. Like she’s tired of it all. And she can’t be. Not yet. Not when I’m hours away from her. So I change the topic. “I’m in my friend Whip’s room.” And I tell her about the ride and how I envy him for the life he’s created. I tell her how he told me I had to clean up any mess.
By the time I’m done, she’s smiling again, and that heaviness that clouded her when I first called is gone.
“If you thought we were going to have phone sex, you’ll be disappointed. I doubt I’d even know where to start.”
I grin. “I could give you prompts.”
She laughs. “I really doubt that would help. I suck at dirty talk.”
Just the way she says dirty talk makes me hard. “You’re underestimating yourself, little chick. I don’t like it when you do that. You could recite the fucking alphabet and watching your lips move would give me a boner.”
She winces. “Are you always so blunt?”
“Why dance around when it comes to sex? I’d rather be honest.”
“So this call, you watching my lips, has it . . . ?”
“Has it what, little chick? You know, as a teacher, I would have expected you to talk in full sentences.”
She rolls her eyes. “Has it . . . you know . . . ?” She gestures with her hand, up and down.
I can’t help but laugh. “Is that your best imitation of my dick hard?”
Pink tints her cheeks. “Stop being an asshole. You know what I mean.”
“If you’re asking if watching your lips during this call made my dick hard, then yes, Iris. So has this conversation about the logistics of dirty talk, without us actually talking dirty.” I drop the camera down to my jeans and rub one hand over my length.
When I flip the camera back to my face, she’s biting down on her goddamn lip.
“Huh,” she says.
“Huh? That’s all you’ve got?”
She shrugs again. “It’s nice to know I can do that to you.”
“Want to find out what else you can do? Tell me your favorite sexual position. And use your words, Iris.”
Her mouth opens, her eyes wide. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re there and I’m here, and we . . .”
I wait for a moment before I speak, needy for more. “Full sentences. And we what?”
There’s a pause. “Urgh. Fine. Why would I tell you I like it missionary—with the guy sort of high up on me so it hits my clit—when you are too far away to do anything about it?”
And if a million different emotions don’t hit me at once . . . I’m the one she wants if she gets turned on. She told me her favorite sexual position. She used her words. She did as I asked. I’m getting a dominant high just from getting her to verbalize her needs without even taking care of them for her.
“Because I want to know how you want it. Because we’re capable of getting off on our own while talking about this shit. Are you turned on?”
She blushes again. “If I say yes, can it just stop there? I don’t think I’m comfortable enough to do more yet.”
“Little chick. I get I’m a lot. You tell me you’re done, and we stop. But I’m gonna push you if I think it’s some bullshit expectations or good girl syndrome. Let’s make a boundary. Use the word rain—reminds me of the day I met you and your yellow raincoat—if you’ve really hit your limit, and I’ll stop.”
“Like a safe word?”
I grin. “You know about safe words?”
She shakes her head, and honestly, even the eye roll turns me on. “I read.”
“Even better. What do you read that talks about safe words?”
“Steamy romance books.”
“We should read them together.”
“No.” She sits up abruptly. “I can’t do that.”
“We could read a scene and then act out what—”
“Spark,” she says, covering her face. “The very idea of doing that makes me . . .”
I wait until she uncovers her eyes. “Makes you what?”
“Fine. Hot. You win.” Her exasperation makes me deep down gut laugh.
I don’t need to have video sex to feel good or feel close to her. Because this, flirting and teasing and laughing with her, makes me feel better than I have in years.
16
IRIS
I lie in bed, debating getting up. Technically, I’ve got nothing to get up for. It’s the weekend. But I’ve been in bed resting, and even though it’s Saturday, I can’t stay in bed another minute. My body aches, but not with the same level of pain I had the day of the accident. More like I ran a marathon without training. I push back the covers, getting used to doing things with only one fully functioning hand, and wander to the bathroom.