For her safety, though she didn’t know that, thank God.
When we got to the part with Jojo’s mother’s shoes, she was crying like a baby, her big Bambi eyes leaking like a faucet.
It was just about too much for me. I was close to my limit.
I wanted to hug her, to pull her into my arms to comfort her, but I was certain that if I did I’d try to fuck her on the spot.
I was, somehow, becoming even more perverse than usual.
When the movie was over, I was just staring at her as she wiped her cute little cheeks.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” I said, trying to distract her without touching her, trying to distract myself. “Tell me some more about your Mayhem books. What is it that you have in mind? The drawings are stellar, now you just need the story. Need some help plotting it out?”
“Not just yet. I’m still bouncing the particulars around, but the gist of it is, I want to make something that makes lonely kids feel less alone.”
Well fuck me if that wasn’t endearing and adorable as hell.
I needed to get away from her. Fast.
I practically ran away.
The next morning I asked her, “Was I high last night?” It was an honest question.
She pushed her cute glasses up her sexy little nose, and her eyes narrowed at me. “You tell me.”
“No,” I decided out loud. “So we really did watch Jojo Rabbit in the middle of the night and you really did cry like a baby.”
I didn’t get the reaction I was trying for. I’d wanted a blush, some embarrassment, maybe. Instead she raised a brow and said, “Your point?”
I was getting close to meeting a big deadline when I told her to set up an appointment with my masseuse to celebrate.
“She comes here?” she asked as she typed in the information I’d given her.
“Yes.”
“I’ll set it up ASAP.”
I studied her. “You know what? Tell them to send someone for you too.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, looking genuinely confused.
“Have them send a masseuse for you, too. You could use a little loosening up.”
She blushed. “I’m fine.”
She was so stubborn that I set up the whole thing myself, calling the parlor and booking my usual girl and whoever they recommended as their second best for Ro.
I didn’t think it through properly, and I regretted that the second I saw who they sent.
My usual girl was a petite blond named Mary. She was smoking hot but faultlessly professional.
Standing next to her when I opened the door was a big, muscular dude that my mind took way too long to gather was going to be massaging Ro.
It was the least relaxed massage I ever had.
Ro was one room over, getting the same treatment I was with some strange dude touching her body.
At one point I heard her moan through the wall, and I came up off the table ready to fight.
Mary blinked at me, her oiled hands held palm up. “Something the matter?” she asked, looking genuinely confused.
I shook my head like I could shake the pictures out of my head. Pictures of a sweet, innocent, naked Ro with that big burly guy’s hands all over her.
I lay back down on the table and forcibly restrained myself until the very end.
When it was done, they left and I shrugged on my white spa robe and moved quietly to the door.
I peeked into the room that Ro’s massage had been set up in.
She was still lying face down on the table. She’d fallen asleep. At least one of us had had a relaxing experience.
There was a cloth covering only her ass, her back and legs bare.
I approached her. I couldn’t help myself. Her back was lovely and naked and still covered in oil.
I touched her shoulder to shake her awake. In spite of myself, it became a caress.
She mumbled something and moaned.
My brain short-circuited for one intense moment. I was enthralled.
I stroked her silky hair, leaning closer to her.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” I breathed into her ear. “The massage is over.”
“Don’t wanna,” she mumbled, clearly still half asleep.
I smelled her hair in one long inhale and resolutely shook her awake.
“Go away so I can sit up and get dressed!” she finally snapped at me.
“You sure you don’t need a hand with that?” I asked.
“Get out!”
“You’re no fun,” I told her as I left.
“Slytherin,” she muttered not quite under her breath.
“Hufflepuff,” I shot back.
“I’m obviously a Ravenclaw,” she retorted.
Of course she fucking was.
I began to hate Sundays. She was gone too much. For too long and leaving me no notion of when to expect her back more often than not.
When she was gone, every time I’d think of something amusing there was no one to share it with.
I’d think, Ro would get the humor of this.
It was just no fun without her. Nothing was.
It was one of the reasons I found myself planning a pool party on a Sunday right after my most recent deadline.
Well, I didn’t plan it. I had Ro to do that.
I did give her a guest list and attempt to brainstorm it a bit with her.
“It’s a lot more women than men,” she noted as she looked at the list.
“Well, yes,” I said, frowning.
“I didn’t think you liked parties. You haven’t had anyone but Dair come over almost since I started here.
I frowned harder. She had a point, and I didn’t like that. “I consider myself to be a social recluse. I like people, but I also like to stay in my house a lot. I actually have these parties fairly often, I’ve just been on deadline.”
She took that without comment, though I was curious to see what she thought, as usual.
“What about food?” she eventually asked. “Anything in particular you want to cater?”
“Whatever sounds good.”
“Does it have a theme? Anything special you want to do or to celebrate?”
“Let’s have a party entrance fee: Tops.”
She just rolled her eyes and took charge of the whole thing.
CHAPTER NINE
PROBLEM NUMBER I’D lost count was that fucking pool party.
A pool party that was supposed to be fun and completely free of stress. It was an afternoon to decompress after being locked away for months in my writing cave.
It wasn’t even one problem. It was a whole new slew of them. All under the category of problematic Ro.
She organized the whole thing without a hitch, I’d give her that. She went above and beyond. She usually did. That wasn’t the issue. The real issue was her. Her behavior and her attire.
Also an issue: It’d been way too long since I’d gotten the fuck laid.
It wasn’t that big of a deal, I told myself. I was a writer. My schedule was a bi-polar nightmare. Sometimes I got caught up in a book and didn’t get laid for months . . . Well, probably more like month as in the singular.
But it’d happened before. Certainly this latest bout of abstinence wasn’t unheard of.
Certainly it wasn’t because of her. That would be a significant problem. Unthinkable, really. So unthinkable that the second the thought hit the edge of my brain, I shut the door firmly in its face.