The Right Man by Michelle Mankin

Author:Michelle Mankin [Mankin, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michelle Mankin
Published: 2019-02-12T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 24

* * *

Jewel

I sat at one of the pub-height tables at the bakery with an uneaten Danish in front of me. Feeling numb, I stared through the windows at the ocean, not seeing it as a picture to paint like I normally would. My heart ached, missing the hope I’d felt walking the shoreline with Rush only the night before.

Just a hooker.

I knew it, knew how this would play out. Yet it seemed I was always determined to learn my lessons the hard way.

Needing to talk to Cam, I pulled my cell from my bag. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, girlfriend. Whatcha doing?”

“Checking in,” I said.

Picking up on my somber mood, she said sharply, “What’s wrong?”

I sighed. “It’s already happening.”

“Oh, Jewel. I’m sorry.” She didn’t need to ask. We were sisters cut from the same cloth, only she was one lesson ahead of me. “Need me to come get you?”

“You don’t have a car, Cam.”

“I can ride the bus, same as you.”

“No need. I know the way.” The way backward.

“You don’t sound good. It really won’t be any trouble.”

I dropped my head into my hand, lowering my voice as I stared at the table. “It’ll cost money. We’ll need to be careful. I . . . it’ll be a while before I can go back on the street.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Startled, I looked up to find Rush standing stiffly a few feet away.

He glowered at me, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re not going back on the street.”

My heart pounding madly, I sputtered, “S-sorry, Cam, I gotta go. Rush is here.”

“He sounds mad.”

“Yeah, apparently. I’d better see what’s going on.”

“Call me back.”

“I will.” I ended the call and set the phone down, then gestured to the stool opposite me. “Have a seat.”

“Don’t feel like chatting, Jewel. I wanna know what the hell you’re doing.”

“Just talking to my friend.”

“About going back to hoo—” He stopped short and glanced around, seeming to realize he was in a crowded place and that people had turned to watch us, probably recognizing him.

It had happened when we were out last night. But after an initial double-take or a request for a photo, most people went about their business, seemingly used to a celebrity, probably lots of celebrities, living among them. It was the tension radiating off him that made this morning different.

“You’re not going back to work,” he said again.

“Today, tomorrow, a week from now, what’s the difference?”

“The difference is how you come apart in my arms.”

“I . . .”

“You usually climax when you’re working?” he said in a low voice, cutting in precisely, like he steered his Porsche.

“No.” I shook my head. He might as well know the truth of it before I took off.

“Didn’t think so.” His expression softening, he moved closer. His warmth and his woodsy scent dredged up memories, stirring desire that now caused pain.

I wasn’t ready to give him up.

“You tell any of them your real name? Or share about your gran?”

“No.” My throat closed up, and I coughed to clear it.

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