"Who are you?"
"Lachlan. We met at the club? Try and keep up."
I laughed. I knew he couldn't know my mother had loved Stevie. So much so that it was my middle name. I didn't tell Lachlan that though. Instead, I stared down at his hand.
"It's your birthday. You deserve to dance on your birthday."
"You are correct, Mr. King."
"I hope you know that every time you say it like that it sounds just a little bit dirty."
"What? No. I'm not being dirty."
He laughed. "A little bit. It's how you say it. I don't know what to tell you. You are sexualizing me, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.” His voice took on a husky note.
I coughed a laugh. "Oh my God, you're impossible."
"Well, I just call it like I see it."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe this is how you lure all the women. Bring them up here, play them a little Stevie Wonder, dance in the living room with them. Perfect date situation. Is this what you call work? You're going to have to do better than this,” I teased.
"No other women. This is my sanctuary. Besides, Charlie and I had a rule. No randoms in the flat, because randoms tended to want to come back for more. And once he had this girl who stalked him. She came to the house because he hadn't called."
I laughed. "Oh no."
"Oh yes. My mother had a lot to say about that. So when we moved in together here, we made a rule. No randoms."
"Am I random?"
"Absolutely not. You are the kind of girl who makes me work. Hence, not a random."
"Smooth, Mr. King, very smooth."
"Now, Miss Abott, take my hand."
And I did. He was warm and solid. For the first time in too long, I trusted someone. It was that easy.
“Now be a good girl and tell me how you like to be touched.”