“Ya no puedo hacer esto,” I admitted, because I couldn’t do this to him anymore. He’d just closed his eyes as I crawled off him, needing to go, needing to escape before I burst into tears.
Behind me, he mumbled, “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?” as I quickly tugged up my panties and grabbed my bra.
I couldn’t face him, couldn’t say anything. So I rushed faster to escape.
He tried to talk me into staying, even came up with the worst pronunciation for the words sit and stay known to man.
“No! Don’t go. Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry. Shit,” he muttered, as if he thought he was messing everything up and didn’t know how to make it right. “What’s sorry in Spanish?”
I told him, not that he knew that was what I was doing. He just kept begging, kept trying to coax me to stay, which only made me feel worse for every lie I’d ever told him and made me more determined to flee.
Wiping back tears, I finally stopped at the door and glanced back. He blinked as if stunned to see me crying. Then he whispered my name...the wrong name, and I blurted, “I’m so very sorry, but I have to do this,” in Spanish before I heaved myself into the stairwell and sprinted up the steps.
Once outside in the cool day, I jogged to my car, blocks away, where I’d left it the day before. Tears blurred my vision as I started the engine, but I kept going anyway. I made it all the way home before I realized—shit—I couldn’t just leave him handcuffed to his bed.
So I dug my phone from my purse and called him. I knew he wouldn’t be able to answer, but I figured “Sticks” could try getting hold of him, and then drop by his apartment to check on him, make sure his dad hadn’t killed him or something.
And fuck, now that I was thinking about his dad, I cursed myself. What the hell had I been thinking to trap him to one spot when his psycho father was still on the loose? What if his old man found him like that, and hurt him? I had left his apartment completely unlocked.
I was about to hang up and rush into my room to change into my Sticks gear when Asher actually answered, surprising the hell out of me.
“Hey, man,” he answered, sounding breathless and yet casual, as if he wasn’t trapped naked to his own bed. “What’s up?”
Okay, so maybe he’d gotten loose already.
“Not much.” My voice sounded stiff to my own ears. I wasn’t sure how I was doing this, why I was still playing this off as two different people. I just wanted to end the charade, and yet the consequences of my actions remained too big for me to face. He was going to hate me so much.
“I...” I had to pause and clear my throat. “I was starving and thought pizza sounded good for lunch. Want to come with?”
“Sure,” he answered, still mentioning nothing of his predicament, but I knew he was going to have to tell me...soon...if he was still trapped, anyway.
“Cool,” I said. “I’ll swing by and pick you up in a bit, then.”
“Sounds good. But, uh, quick question first.”
Great. Here it came. “Okay,” I murmured, bracing for his take on what had just happened.
But after a small hesitation, all he said was, “You don’t happen to have...handcuff keys, do you?”
“Um...” Damn, I wasn’t ready for that question, and it was probably the most logical one for him to ask. But I didn’t have the keys. I didn’t even know where they could be.
“Never mind,” he said suddenly. “I know I have some here. Somewhere. Could you just...come over and give me a hand?”
“Of course. I’ll be there in less than twenty.”
I hung up on him before he could say anything. And I made it back to his place within fifteen minutes, my mask, fake torso, and man panties firmly in place.
When I parked in front of his apartment entrance, I cursed myself again for leaving his door unlocked in my escape. His father could’ve just moseyed right on in and hurt him. A little scared his dad had beaten me here, I rushed to the door and immediately called, “Asher?”
“Down here.”
Relief sagged my shoulders and I took the steps two at a time. He’d managed to use his legs to cover his lap with sheets, but I’d forgotten just how very exposed I’d left him.
But...holy damn. The boy was pure art. My mouth watered as I remembered everything we’d done together on that bed.
Except the wary way he watched me and the blush climbing his cheeks because he couldn’t conceal more of himself from his gay friend shoved me back to reality.
He opened his mouth, probably to explain, but I held up a hand. “I’m not even going to ask.”
The air rushed from his lungs before he gratefully murmured, “Thank you.”
I nodded. “The only question I have is, where do you think the key is?”
“Fuck, I’m not sure,” he muttered, sounding pissed at himself. “But it’s got to be somewhere around that gift bag on the table.”