Internal alarms start to sound. Not only have we never cuddled after sex or done any sort of pillow talk, but Frankie has barely wanted to exchange two words with me. Shit, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. But clearly, I was going to have to fess up, and that time is now.
“Well, what do you want to know?” I ask, my tone cautious. I hope she doesn’t notice.
“I mean, you’re not some serial killer, right?” Those violet eyes hold a sarcastic expression.
“You probably should have asked that the first night we slept together. Now you’re in too deep. You like my dick too much, even if I do stab people as an extracurricular.” Humor as a defense mechanism is my middle name.
She clicks her tongue at me. “No, but seriously, what is your last name?”
It’s now or never. I twirl an auburn curl around my finger, loving the silkiness of her hair.
“Callum. Sinclair Callum, pleasure to meet you.” I stick my free hand out, but instead of waiting for her to shake it, I palm one of her bare ass cheeks.
“Oh!” She jumps a little, but her body seems to melt closer into mine.
I don’t know why I lie. It’s dumb, really, because she could find me out so easily. At any moment while at work, she could discover who I really am.
But for right now, I don’t have to be a Callahan. Frankie isn’t holding me to some standard because of who my family is. She doesn’t need money or fame, though I know she isn’t that kind of girl to begin with. For right now, I can just be. Since the day I was born, my life has been intertwined with one of the most famous names in the country, and if I can distance myself from that for just a few months, with even just one person, I’m going to take it.
“Okay, Sinclair Callum. Tell me one thing about you that will also differentiate you from a serial killer.” Frankie’s eyes dance with humor.
I tap my chin with one finger. “I honestly don’t know what to say that wouldn’t be something a serial killer would say. Because a lot of serial killers came off as normal dudes, you know? Ted Bundy was married. So was the BTK killer, and he had a daughter. John Wayne Gacy was a clown at kid’s birthday parties—”
“Um, a clown at kid’s birthday parties? They should have known he was a serial killer just from that.” Frankie shudders.
I laugh. “That’s kind of true. Wow, such rousing pillow talk. How did we go from orgasms to murder?”
“I’m efficient like that.” She shrugs, running a hand through that mass of sexy red curls.
“How about you? Tell me one thing about Francesca Kade that I don’t know. Did you grow up here?” I ask, surprised that I genuinely want to know.
Her lip sticks out in a pout, and her eyes narrow. “You didn’t answer my original question, but I’ll let that one slip. Yes, I grew up here. How about you, from Florida?”
I shake my head. “No. What about your family? Big or small? Siblings?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” she asks, catching onto my plot not to answer any questions.
I shrug, tucking a curl behind her ear. “We’ve been sleeping together for a little. Is it a crime if I get to know you?”
It might be a crime to my heart. What if she tells me something about herself that is a total turnoff? Then it would taint this. But also, what if she tells me something completely endearing? What if I end up catching feelings? It’s dangerous territory I’m wading in, but I go in, nonetheless.
She doesn’t answer my question about those crimes but goes back to the original ones I asked. “Small, almost nonexistent family. Just me and my mom. Never knew my dad. So I guess it’s possible I have siblings, but I know nothing about them.”
“You talk about it like it doesn’t bother you,” I point out.
“It doesn’t. I’ve never been the type to dwell on that stuff, I don’t have daddy issues. Mom was a hardworking woman who provided for me, and I did the rest.”
“Aren’t you trying to avoid relationships? Isn’t that why you’re sleeping with someone emotionally off-limits, like me?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t aware you were emotionally off-limits. Now my plan to get you to fall in love with me is thwarted.” She snaps her fingers as if to say aw shucks.
I chuckle, somewhere in the back of my mind thinking that she just might get me to fall in love with her. “Funny. But really, you don’t seem like a woman who wants to find love.”
This went from a get-to-know-you chat to seriously deep in a couple of chess moves. I’m not sure if I meant to take it here, and Frankie looks uncomfortable.
“I’m focusing on my career. I’m really happy where I am right now, and if it happens, then yeah. But I’m not actively seeking it. I don’t need to check it off on my to-do list. I have other things I want more. Hey, what’s with all of the questions directed at me? How about you? Is your family big or small?”
Enormous, but I won’t tell her that. “Just my mom, dad, and brother.”
It’s not a lie, but it definitely isn’t the truth.
We ask question after question for so long that I don’t even notice when my tongue grows heavy with sleep or how Frankie ceases talking. I don’t remember as I drift off to sleep with her naked in my arms.
I’m not sure when my eyes shut, but they do so as I’m wrapped around her, warm under her covers with the sound of the ocean waves beating the shore just outside her window.
10
Frankie
I sit on the side of my bed, chewing my thumbnail nervously.
As if sensing my apprehension, Sinclair stirs, those gorgeous long black lashes sweeping over his cheeks several times as he clears the sleep from his eyes.
“Shit, we fell asleep?” His morning voice is deep and raspy, and it does dangerous things to my insides.
“I guess we did.” I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from his abs, biceps, and morning hair.
The man shouldn’t be allowed to sleep over, which I guess is why I had this rule. He’s way too lethal at this hour of the day.
Sinclair stretches, all of those lean, taut muscles pulling tight, and I have to audibly gulp. I’m sitting here like a paranoid freak, and he’s taking his grand old time greeting the morning.
“You’re dressed,” he observes, those aqua pools heating as he takes in my white sundress.
“I typically go to Sanibel every Sunday. Well, if there isn’t a game. And there isn’t one today, so I’m headed there.” I try to keep my voice neutral.
But what I’m really saying is, get out of my bed so I can get on with my ritual.
I couldn’t very well leave him here, alone in my apartment. It was strange enough that he’d fallen asleep in my bed. It was stranger still that I felt some odd sense of peace when I woke up in his arms, the warmth of his skin and solid wall of muscle at my back both inviting and comforting.
It had me jumping out from under my duvet and retreating to the living room, where I paced for a good five minutes before brewing coffee and sneaking back into the bedroom to throw on my bathing suit and a sundress. Now all I want to do is bid him farewell and get onto my Sunday trip, clear my head. Walk in the natural grasslands and sit on the white sand beaches of the island off Fort Myers.