You Own Me

by Shiloh Walker

  She glanced up into the mirror as she said it, checking her hair. Did she need to wash it—

  In the mirror, she caught sight of his face. The flash of disbelief, followed by an anger that rolled across his face had a chill racing down her spine. Caution, caution, caution—

  She eased to the side, turning to give him a smile as she cut around him. A hundred little warnings started to blare in her head. Don’t let yourself get trapped. Don’t make him angry—

  She silenced them with a mental shake of her head. This was a different time, a different place. A different man.

  “A date…so this is through the site, huh?” There was amusement in his voice now. “I hope you’re being careful, sweetheart. A lot of those guys love to play with girls like you. You’re just naïve enough for them to have fun.”

  She gave him a narrow look. Naïve?

  “I’d hate for you to get hurt,” he said, reaching up and cupping her cheek.

  She turned away, staying silent.

  “If you’re having second thoughts, we can go out instead. You should have a contact for him. Just call, tell him you changed your mind. Or I can handle it—”

  “I’m not changing my mind,” she said calmly. “We’re just having drinks. And we’re meeting at Rush. Pixie’s group is playing and Decker and Selah will be around. If it goes bad, I’ll signal one of them.”

  The odd, strained silence that fell was little surprise. Noel liked Decker about as much as Decker liked him. They couldn’t stand each other. Noel really didn’t fit in with anybody she cared about. He didn’t fit in anywhere in her life. Sometimes, not even with her.

  “You really think relying on an ex-con is the best—”

  “Don’t.” The fury sprang forward and she whirled on him, thoughts of caution fading into the background. She strode to him and jabbed her finger into his chest.

  Surprise lit his eyes.

  “Don’t ever talk about him like that,” she said, cutting him off when he went to open his mouth. Nobody got to dismiss Decker like that. Nobody. “You don’t know anything about him.”

  “I know he has a record.” Noel caught her wrist, squeezing when she tried to jerk away. “Isn’t that enough? What the fuck do you see in that thug? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a thing going for him—I know plenty of women go for the big and tattooed look, but sweetheart, that man isn’t ever going to find what he needs from a girl like you, and you know it.”

  The sharp little pain in her chest didn’t make sense. Decker was her friend. Her best friend. That was what he needed from her, what she needed from him. “You’re wrong,” she said, shaking her head. This time, she moved into him, just enough, catching him off-guard. His grip loosened and she jerked away. “We’re friends. That’s all we are, all we’ll ever be. But he’s the best friend I’ve ever had and I won’t hear you talk about him that way.”

  Backing away, she put herself in the middle of the room. As Noel’s gaze landed on her, she fought the urge to back even farther away. That look…she didn’t like it. It was an ugly sort of look, and then he cocked his head and the look she’d thought she saw was gone.

  Still, the uneasiness lingered. “I need to finish getting ready, Noel.”

  “Sure.” He gave her an easy smile. “Maybe we can have lunch together, though. Tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know…”

  He moved in, then, and when he brushed her hair back, cupped her face tenderly, that odd, wistful yearning inside her twisted and sighed. “I miss you. We’re supposed to date others…that doesn’t mean we let each other go.” His mouth brushed over hers and the gentleness there seemed to whisper an apology. “Don’t you miss me? At all?”

  The awful thing was that she wasn’t sure she did.

  This whole thing had been about making him appreciate her more.

  Instead she found herself seeing less and less about him that she could appreciate.

  Stop it. You love him…don’t you?

  Floundering in a rush of confusion, she forced a smile. “We can try lunch. I’m working, though. Want to meet at La Rosa? Around one?”

  His name was Loren.

  Loren was five-ten, a little solid through the middle—the way a football player would have been, she decided. He still looked pretty fit and he looked at her in a way that made her feel like she was completely beautiful.

  He called her beautiful, and for a little while, Elizabeth even felt like she was.

  It might have been easier to relax if she wasn’t acutely aware of Decker and Selah in a booth between them and the door. All she had to do was send them a look and they’d be over there.

  But she was having fun.

  Loren was a welder and he also liked to do art in his free time—metal art. He had some pictures up on his profile, which was one of the reasons she’d decided she’d accept his messages. He hadn’t just posted dick pictures. Actually, he hadn’t posted any dick pictures.

  None of the “connections” she’d accepted had dick pictures posted. If a guy was going to just put it all out there like that…well, no. Not what she was looking for.

  “A coffee shop. So what got you interested in that?”

  Looking in Loren’s eyes, she smiled. He had great eyes. The darkest, most amazing brown. “Would you believe a serious caffeine addiction? This way, I can be around it, drink it to my heart’s content…I can go to other coffee shops and drink it and call it researching the competition…” She grinned at him.

  He chuckled. “You sound like me and my wine fixation. I homebrew and I’ll go out of my way to hit a winery when I see one.” He buffed his nails. “I gotta see how others are doing it, right?” Then he winked at her.

  “Oh. Absolutely.” She nodded to Pixie up on the stage and said, “You ought to hear Pixie talking wine. She can wax on for hours. I barely know the difference between Pinot Noir and Pinot Blanc…except…well. I hate both.”

  Loren arched his brows.

  “Sorry.” She winced. “I like wine, it’s just the dry stuff…” She shuddered.

  A low, easy laugh rolled out of him and he leaned forward, his biceps brushing against her arm. “That’s okay, beautiful. Besides, I’m not much for a Pinot Blanc myself. I won’t turn down a good Pinot Noir every now and then, but it’s not one of my favorites, either.”

  He was easy to talk to. Why was it easy with him and yet, she fumbled for words with Noel and so many other guys, she wondered? Not all of them, but too many. Sitting around here, chatting with Loren wasn’t quite the same as it was with Decker, but then again…nobody was Decker.

  “Want to dance?”

  Jerking her mind away from it, she swallowed and slid a look out to the floor.

  “It’s cool if you don’t.”

  She looked back at him, saw by the look in his eyes he absolutely meant it.

  “Yeah. I’d like to dance,” she said, more nervous by the idea than she liked. But if she was really going to try this dating thing, didn’t that include things like dancing?

  “They’re dancing.”

  Decker ignored Selah, instead focusing on the letter.

  When Wanna Play had approved his application, he’d thought maybe it was a joke. Or a mistake. But then he’d set up his profile. He was told from the get-go that if he made any “connections”, they would be notified that he had a criminal history and any connections, at that time, could request more information.

  He’d deal with that when it happened.

  Because the site was indeed very social, he had dropped by the walls of a few, chatted with a couple of women, but for the most part, not that many tried to make a connection. The few who did, he just ignored them.

  And focused on the big picture. On the woman who mattered.

  Who had always mattered.

  “Carajo! Decker, my friend,” Selah said, leaning closer so she could yell in his ear. “Whatever you’re doing…keep doing it.”

  He shot a look up…and gripped his phone s
o tightly, the plastic casing threatened to crack.

  They were on the far edge of the dance floor, outlined by the smoky blue light. And Loren—that was the fuck’s name—Loren had his hand fisted in Lizzie’s hair while his mouth was busy on hers. And Lizzie was clutching at him. He was kissing her senseless and Decker could tell, even from here, that she was enjoying it.

  “Man, why you taking so long? She’s going to fall in love with somebody—for real, this time, if you keep waiting around,” Selah murmured.

  He didn’t say anything. Just sat there. Stared.

  Even when Loren stroked a hand down to rest low on Lizzie’s back, all he did was watch.

  It wasn’t until they moved back into the flow of bodies that he let himself look away.

  “Decker—”

  “Stop,” he said, squeezing the words out as he stared at the screen. “I know you’re trying to help, but until she’s ready to give me a chance, I have to be careful how I handle this.”

  “This is how you handle it?” Selah asked. She flew off, launching into a litany of Spanish, and for a minute, Decker managed to smile.

  She started to wind down, muttering under her breath for a few more seconds. Finally, she flung out a hand toward the dance floor, almost knocking over the Guinness he’d ordered. “Qué carajo clase de mierda jodida es ésta? You stupid pendejo. You want to watch her go out on dates, huh? That is your master plan? You sit by while other guys find out how amazing she is? That’s not a plan. That’s stupid.”

  A headache pulsed behind his right eye. “I know what I’m doing.”

  At least he hoped he did.

  He was betting everything he had on it. Decker didn’t have much. Just his heart and soul, and she pretty much owned those anyway, so what did he have to lose, really?

  I had a dream about you last night.

  Lizzie rubbed at her tired eyes as she leaned against the counter. She’d opened the app for Wanna Play after she’d brewed herself the strongest, hottest cup of coffee imaginable and now, with one line—those seven simple words—one of her connections had managed to clear her mind better than ten cups of coffee—and he had about the same effect on her heart.

  Oleander.

  That was what he went by. The name on his profile, once she’d accepted his connection request, was Chuck. Chuck Oleander.

  She liked Oleander, even though it was an odd pick for a name.

  Granted, it might be possible that she liked him because of the name.

  She had a love for oleander, even as deadly as it could be.

  That was why she’d clicked on his profile anyway.

  She knew Chuck Oleander might not be his real name—she used Tin Lizzie for her profile—so yeah, the name thing was a weird reason to base anything on, but he’d met her other standard—he didn’t post dick pics.

  She rubbed her lip for a minute before she opened the messenger center and replied.

  Did you?

  Yes. I’d tell you, but it would embarrass you. His reply somehow managed to convey teasing and a subtle warning. Why don’t you tell me what you did instead?

  Maybe I want to hear about the dream. She checked the time. She had a good forty minutes before she had to open the doors and everything was mostly ready. She could…she bit her lip, guilt niggling inside her. Was it bad that she was actually enjoying this?

  Well, the thing is, I tell you all about my dreams, tell you all sorts of things about me. But you don’t talk that much about you.

  She bit her lip. This was where she got nervous. Okay, she’d had fun with Loren last night—so much fun. And he’d kissed her…

  Her heart sped up thinking about it. He’d kissed her, pulled her in so tight, she’d felt everything. So maybe that solid body of his wasn’t all rock-hard muscle like Decker, but he was definitely strong and he definitely wanted her. She’d felt it. Through both their clothes, there had been no doubt about the fact that his hard-on had been pressed up against her belly as he kissed his way down her neck.

  It had been…fun.

  But she still didn’t understand why he’d wanted to go out with her to begin with.

  Or Oleander.

  Especially Oleander.

  The few pictures he had online didn’t show his face, but the man was ripped. There was one of him in a skin-tight black shirt and the muscles he had would have given Chris Hemsworth as Thor as run for his money. He was probably as built as Decker.

  He didn’t show his face, but that was okay.

  Some people didn’t. She could understand it. Her pictures didn’t clearly show her face. She was looking down or had her hair obscuring her face. Anything to keep her from being identified if the pictures were seen by people who knew her. The site went from just those looking for a casual hook-up to some serious kinks and it probably wasn’t ideal for people in some professions to let that sort of thing get out. Even Noel’s picture was vague, an image of his lower face, his mouth—which was one of his better features, really.

  What do you want to know, O?

  She typed it before she could talk herself out of it, and then she tapped on the avatar, watched as it enlarged so she could stare at the tattoo there. It was on his palm.

  Script, stark and simple.

  You own me.

  She wondered who he’d gotten it for. Why he was here on this site if he’d once been so thoroughly committed to another.

  His answer came up.

  Everything.

  Her breathing hitched.

  Trying not to be overwhelmed, she answered back, including a smile to hopefully lighten things up, Wow. You don’t believe in starting out small, do you?

  We can take it in small bites. Maybe over dinner. Are you up for that, Tin Lizzie?

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. A mad, almost desperate fury took her and she almost, almost said no.

  “Why?” she whispered, the word echoing in the silence of her shop.

  But the answer was simple, really.

  As much fun as she’d had with Loren, as much fun as she had flirting with a few of the others guys on the site, there was only one who’d unsettled her like this, made her even a little bit breathless. She didn’t do well with being thrown off balance.

  She liked being in control—she never was in her personal life, but maybe somebody who just handled things could help her there. She wanted to know somebody was in control.

  That was the whole reason she’d been attracted to Noel—that take-charge attitude had soothed her.

  She wouldn’t be in control here.

  And something told her that Oleander wasn’t the kind of man to have civilized polite relationships. He’d want…

  Everything.

  She eyed the avatar again.

  You own me.

  Swallowing, she typed out her response. It was a question of her own.

  His answer was simple. I’ll tell you at dinner. When can we meet?

  Chapter Five

  Decker had an unfair advantage. Several of them really.

  He planned to use them to the fullest, too.

  He called Kona, the riverside restaurant that Lizzie loved, and booked one of the private areas off the deck.

  When she called in the middle of the week and told him she was meeting somebody there for dinner, he grunted, kept his answer to a minimum. “Why there? Thought you were hanging out at the bar until you got to know these guys better.”

  “He…um, well. We wanted to do dinner. I thought it would be okay, as long as you all were around. You…you don’t mind, do you?”

  “Nah.” He closed his eyes, hoped Selah wouldn’t wreck it. He’d already called her, told her. She’d crowed for ten minutes and then promised she wouldn’t give anything away. “I haven’t had a decent steak in a while. I can eat and hang there while you look for Prince Charming.”

  The last time he’d teased her about finding her fairytale prince, she’d laughed him off.

  This time, she said, “Thanks.” Then she hu
ng up.

  Tossing the phone down on his bed, he looked at his hand and rubbed the tattoo. It was faded. Ink didn’t stay all that colorful on the palm, not with sweat and work and all that. But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t for anybody but him.

  It had been done in prison and it was quality work. He actually had a cellmate who used to be a tattoo artist on the outside—a skinny guy with a big mouth who knew his way around prison life. After a few uneasy weeks while they circled each other, they’d settled into something of a friendship. And then the guy had, out of the blue, asked him if he would ever get any ink on the inside.

  His first response had been no.

  Then he’d shrugged. I don’t know.

  Gotta be careful, man. How you do it. Clean needles or you walk out of here with HIV, hepatitis. He’d slid Decker a look. I can get shit in here. Anybody can, if you know the right people. I know the right people. You ever want ink, come to me. I do clean work. Maybe we can work out a deal.

  The deal had been muscle.

  Luther had been nearly sixty at the time, whipcord lean, strong. But he was the sort of man who said what he thought and that didn’t always work out well in prison life.

  Unless of course you had the kind of muscle to back it up.

  Even from day one people knew why Decker was in jail.

  When a former high school football star all but tears a man apart with his bare hands, word gets around. Decker had been heading to college on a scholarship, too. The news had gone national.

  People had come at him from day one, trying to beat him into the ground. He’d had one thing in his mind—Lizzie had cried and made him promise he’d be okay.

  The only time anybody ever took him down was when they managed to corner him, four or five on one. They got tired of it after a while.

  It wasn’t a bad deal, all in all. He’d gotten his ink, Luther didn’t get hassled.

  The first one had been the one on his hand.

  He’d made Lizzie promise him she wouldn’t blame herself, but he knew she did. It was okay, because she couldn’t help it. She had a soft heart and that soft heart was part of why he loved her, why he always had. She was everything he’d never known, growing up in a roachbox of a house, dodging his drunken father’s flying fists almost from the time he could walk.