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“I’m just in a position I don’t see a way out of, okay?” I assert.  “I’m stuck and I don’t know what to do.”  I end in a huff, throwing my arms up in the air, thoroughly defeated.

“What kind of situation?”  His tone is hard, and I bet if I risked a look at him, I’d see those gorgeous brown eyes narrowed and inquisitive. 

I shrug.  “Just a problem that has me backed into a corner.  The kind of problem that won’t go away unless I do something I’m not prepared to do, or I give something I just don’t have,” I evade.

“Stop playing fuckin’ games, Willa,” he growls, the energy in the vehicle turning electric with the angry waves rolling off him.

“I’m not,” I snap.

“You’re talking in fuckin’ riddles,” he rumbles, talking over me.

“Fuck!” I shout.  “I have to come up with sixty grand or become a fucking sex slave, okay?  Jesus!”  I yell it so loudly I’m sure the other side of town heard but I’m just so mad.  I’m angry, I’m hurt, I’m confused, and
goddammit
, I don’t see a way out and it’s frustrating and fucking petrifying.  My heart is hammering in my chest and beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead. 

Suddenly it’s really, really hot in here – and not the enjoyable kind of hot it was five minutes ago.  Oh no, this kind of hot is the hot you feel right before you pass out because you’re so stressed and exhausted. 
The bad kind of hot.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Oak’s voice fills my ears, but it sounds muffled, far away.  The only thing I can hear is my rapid breathing and my even faster heartbeat.  “Calm down, Willa, yeah?  Calm down, girl,” he says softly.  His voice soothes me and I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out slowly.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Now, repeat what you just said, and give me more information.”  He’s trying to remain calm, keeping his voice quiet and level, but the animosity in the car just cranked up to suffocating and the only break in the silence is the grinding of his teeth.

Shit.

“Before I do that, Oak, I need you to promise that you won’t go making a deal out of this and running your mouth to my brother.”

“Can’t make that promise, Willa.”

Double shit.

“Well, could you at least
attempt
to make that promise?  Maybe negotiate the terms a little?  Give me
something
?”

“Just. Spit. It. Out,” he growls.

Triple, quadruple, mega fucksticks,
shit.

“A man came by my place the other day.  He said my parents had a debt with him and since they hadn’t been able to settle it, he’d killed them.  He said I could either pay back the amount they owed, sixty thousand dollars.” I pause to swallow hard.

“Or I could become a sex worker for him until such time as I’d paid the money back.  He said with a body like mine, men would pay a lot of money to fuck me.  He’s giving me a couple of days to think about it, but in his own words, obviously he hopes I choose the second option.”  I end quietly, my voice still the same monotone, emotionless sound that I began with.

“Name?” Oak breaks the silence by rumbling one word.

“Pardon?”

“Name?”

“Uh, the guy’s name?” I ask, unsure.  The feral look in his eyes has me so scared I can’t think straight.  He doesn’t confirm it, but the look in his eyes has me thinking yes, the guy’s name is exactly what he wants. 

“Miguel.  That’s all he told me.”

“He touch you?”

I shake my head no.

“Out.”  My mind spins at the sudden change of direction in conversation, and before I can question him on it, he’s opening my car door and helping me out of my car.

“Where are we going?” My voice is a little shrill as he leads me around the hood of my car to the passenger side he’s just vacated.

“In you go.”  He puts pressure on my shoulder so I fold myself into the seat.  He closes the door with a thud and rounds the hood before lowering himself into the driver’s seat.  He looks hilarious, his big, long, muscular thighs bunched up under the steering wheel.

“Christ, woman.  You always sit so close to the dash?”

I giggle out loud, watching him try to find the lever to move the seat back.  He finally does and swiftly deposits himself in the backseat – or near enough!

He turns the key and revs the engine, before shifting into drive and pulling out of the lot.

“Where are we going?”

“Your place.”

“Oh.”  I’m not ashamed to say, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind, silently hoping he will bring to life all those sexy images he created earlier.

He pulls up in front of my apartment and I climb out and walk to the front door, fishing my keys from my handbag as I go.  I unlock the door and go to walk in, but he grips my arms and tugs me back behind him. 

I watch him stalk through my small place and then return.

“You can come in now.”  He’s obviously satisfied there are no threats hiding in my closet.  I scowl at him, but I’m slightly thankful, because I wouldn’t put it past Miguel to kidnap me in the middle of the night and pack me in a shipping container before sending me on boat to an island far away where sex slaves are sold to the highest bidder. 

“Would you like a drink?” I ask.  Politeness is probably the way to go, considering if I be a bitch to him, he might run back and inform my brother of certain events.  I don’t want that to happen.

He nods.  “Coffee.”

“Coming up.”  I fix us both a coffee and then hand him his mug before sipping from my own.

“So, umm…” I trail off, suddenly feeling extremely awkward.  It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know why he’s here.  Why
is
he here?  What is he going to do?  Since he drove me home, how is he getting back to his place, or the clubhouse?  Does he even have a house?  Or does he stay at the clubhouse all the time?  Is his bed king-sized to accommodate his massive frame?  Does he sleep naked?

Focus, Willa!

He drains the last of his coffee and rinses the mug out before setting it on the sink.

“You takin’ a shower?”

“Huh?” I ask stupidly.

“Shower.  Are you taking one?”

“Yeah,” I drag out the word, unsure where he’s going with this.

“First-Aid kit?”

“Huh?”  Jesus, Willa, get with the program!  You’re acting like an idiot.

“First-Aid kit.  You got one?” he asks, slowing his words down on purpose.

“Yes.  In the cupboard above your head.”

“Good.  Go shower.  I’ll fix your feet when you’re done.”

“You’ll fix my feet when I’m done?” I ask, not quite believing what I’m hearing.  Why would he even care enough to fix my blisters?  He hardly knows me.  It’s so incredibly sweet, I may have a swooned a little.

“Go take a shower, Willa.”

“Okay.”  I dump my coffee in the sink and make my way to the shower. 

Closing the bathroom door, I turn on the water and then take off my clothes while I wait for the water to heat.  My bathroom is small, but functional, and combines with the toilet.  It suits me fine though, since I’m the only one living here. 

The color scheme is a little outdated – mustard yellow and brown – but I won’t be here forever, hopefully, so I just pretend it’s all sparkling white with black feature tiles.  In other words, my dream bathroom. 

Actually, that’s how I picture my entire apartment.  I don’t see the decades-old carpet and the lime green cupboard doors.  Or the chipped ivory paint on the walls and the ancient light fixtures.  No, I see clean lines, white walls, and hardwood floors, with plush chocolate brown rugs throughout.  In the corner, where my small box television sits, I imagine is my wood fireplace, surrounded by a stone wall that reaches right to the ceiling.

I step over the edge of my tub and into the shower and pull my floral curtain across, which is actually a large glass door in my mind.  My tub is a spa bath over in the corner and across the room from that is the his ‘n’ hers vanity with a mirror that stretches across the entire wall.

I can dream, right?

I wash my hair, erasing all the smoke and sweat from the night, and then scrub my body with my lilac loofa before quickly shaving my legs.  After I’m done, I step out and wrap a towel around my head before brushing my teeth and drying off.  I sling on my robe and tie the knot tight before ducking across the hall and into my bedroom.

Once there, I change into my pajamas and brush the tangles out of my damp hair before twisting it up into a bun on top of my head.  I know I shouldn’t go to bed with it damp, but I’ll deal with it in the morning.

I find Oak sitting on my couch, staring at the television.  It’s turned off and I briefly wonder if he has fallen asleep with his eyes open.  That’s possible, right?  I’m unsure whether to poke him to see if he’s awake or not. 

Slowly, he turns his head my way and his eyes sweep down my body and back up again.  Then they go down
again
and back up
again
until he finally settles his gaze on my eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, noticing the pained look that’s creeping across his face.

“You wear that to bed every night?” he asks tightly.

“Sometimes.  I have a couple other pairs, mostly the same as this, just different designs on the fabric,” I ramble. 
Shut up, Willa!
 

My pajamas aren’t really worthy of such a lengthy speech.  They’re old, worn, and there’s a small hole in one armpit.  But, they are comfortable, soft, and my favorite.  Pale pink, with small daisies scattered over them, the little booty shorts don’t twist when I toss and turn in my sleep, and the tee-shirt top is roomy, but not too big and not too small.  It fits me perfectly.

But again, they’re nothing to write home about.  Certainly not spun from the wool of royal sheep or anything extravagant like that.

He curses again and then stands, his tall frame instantly dwarfing mine.

“Sit,” he commands.

I sit, taking his place on my single sofa.  My eyes follow him as he stalks into the kitchen and snags one of my two dining chairs.  He holds it one hand while grabbing my first-aid kit with the other.  Placing the chair down in front of me, he sets the kit on the arm of my sofa and sits down.

His warm hand wraps around my calf and goose bumps raise up over my body.

I watch his face as he carefully inspects my heel.  His lips become tight, thin lines, and his eyes burn with anger.

“You broke?”

“No!” I’m shocked that he would ask such a personal question in such an abrupt way.

His finger traces around the large raw abrasion on my heel and my breath hitches in my throat.  The act so tender from his worn, calloused hands. 

“You can afford it, there’s no reason why your feet should look like this.  So, why do they?”

“I don’t like to be frivolous with my money.  I save and budget for every expense, whether it’s a need or a want, so…” I explain, trailing off, and ending on a shrug.

“Frivolous is buying shit you don’t need when you can’t afford it – or even when you can. 
Sensible
is buying stuff you need when you need it so your feet don’t end up like this.”  It’s the most I’ve heard him say at one time and
damn
is he even sexier when he gets riled up!

“It’s only a blister, Oak.” My tone is placating.

His head snaps up and his blazing gaze finds mine.  He grinds his teeth, his jaw so tight, I’m afraid it might snap.  His lips open slightly and I wait for him to say what’s on his mind.  Then, as suddenly as the emotion overtakes him, it’s gone. 
Poof!
  Just like that. 

My eyebrows climb into my hairline when his head lowers and he touches his lips to my heel.

He places a bandage to each of my heels, and one on my left arch where a small blister is starting to emerge.

“Go climb in bed, baby,” he tells me when he’s done fixing my feet.

“Okay.”  Unable to hold it back, I let out a large yawn and stand, stretching my arms above my head.  “I’m beat.  I’ll lock the door behind you,” I say, expecting him to make for the door.  When he stays silent, I continue.  “Thanks so much for dropping me home tonight.  Did you call one of the guys to come and get you, or do you need me to drop you home first?”

“I’m stayin’.”

He’s staying?

“You’re staying?” I ask in disbelief.  “Like, here?” 

“Go on to bed. I’ll lock up.”

“You can’t stay here.”  My voice betrays my shock.

“I can.  I am.”

“You can’t be serious?  Where will you sleep?  In case you haven’t noticed, this is a one bedroom apartment equivalent to the size of Kim Kardashian’s bathroom.  My sofa is a single seat and my floor is not hardwood lined with thick, scattered rugs – it’s covered in really old, worn carpet.”

His lip twitches.  “I can see that.”

“So,
clearly
, there is nowhere for you to sleep.  Unless, of course, you’re a freak of nature and can sleep sitting up and not wake up in the morning with a stiff back and a twisted neck.”