“How are you feeling, Kitten?” Kerr all but purrs.
“Sore, but thankful I’m alive.”
“Are you hungry? We thought we’d bring you some lunch,” Dem says.
It’s crazy how I can already tell their voices apart. Dem has a gentleness to his tone, as if he’s holding the dark and broody at bay. Kerr has a teasing lilt, and you can almost hear the cocky smile playing at his lips. O’Dell’s voice is deep and authoritative. I can easily imagine him barking out orders to trembling subordinates.
“Three big men and me in this tiny ass apartment. Are you joking?”
“You can sit on my lap if you need a place to sit.” I can almost see the big satisfied smile on Kerr’s face.
“Hmmm.” I roll my eyes, but can’t keep my lips from spreading into my own goofy grin. “I was thinking I’d run down the street and grab a burrito.”
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t leave your fortress today,” O’Dell says.
“I never agreed to that.”
“I know you didn’t, Kitten, but I was hoping you’d do it, anyway.”
“You don’t know me very well, Kerr. I never do what I’m told.”
“That’s a quick way to get yourself spanked.” Kerr says.
I know he’s flirting, and part of me is desperate to establish a relationship with that kind of trust, but I’ve halted talk like that for so long, my knee jerk reaction is to shut down and say nothing.
“Kyra? You still there?” Dem asks.
“Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry.”
“You want to give Kerr another black eye?” he jokes. At least I think he’s joking.
I giggle. “No.”
“Can we bring you lunch?” O’Dell cuts in. “Burrito shop on the corner, right?”
I give up. “Yes. Carne Asada with guacamole and Pico, no beans.”
“Roger that. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Anything to drink?”
Might as well go all out. “Horchata.”
“You got it, Cupcake. See you soon.”
The line disconnects, and just like that I have a lunch date with three men in my craphole apartment. Jumping off the couch, I run into the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair, scrubbing my face again before applying moisturizer and a smidge of mascara. I’m in the process of putting on a tank top when there’s a knock on my door.
For the last couple weeks, I’ve gone quiet when someone unexpectedly knocks on my door, and then a knee-jerk reaction to crouch down and grab my gun takes over my body.
It’s like they know what I’m thinking because my phone beeps with a message. “It’s us at the door.”
I open the door, wondering how my apartment complex is still standing with these three massive men hovering in the hallway. “Come on in.”
O’Dell hands me a black T-shirt. “Is there a reason this is hanging over the camera above your door?”
I sigh. “Yeah, my neighbor is afraid I’m going to videotape his side piece coming over when his wife’s at work. I tried to explain to him it’s not a real camera and just up there to deter would-be robbers, but whenever his date comes over, he throws something over it.”
“It’s not a real camera?”
“No. My landlord told me I have to pay for damages if I drilled through the wall to run a cable.”