As soon as we landed, I rushed into the taxi. Ransom followed me stoically. I fell inside and tipped my head back against the leather seat, closing my eyes.
I hoped Ransom would take the passenger seat and spare me the looming humiliation of asking him about what happened between us. He’d spent last night curled on the floor as far as humanly possible from me.
Alas, I felt the seat beside me dip as he joined me in the back. My heart jackhammered. I’d waited two long days to broach the subject of us. Now we were miles away from the scene of the crime and it finally felt safe enough.
“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I blurted out.
“You becoming a medical clown?” Ransom’s thumbs hovered over his phone screen. He was aggressively punching in a text message. “Gladly. You’re not gonna like what I have to say, though.”
I stole a look at our driver, a friendly-looking, silver-haired man in his late sixties. He was tan and wrinkled. Umm Kulthum blared out of his radio, and he had pictures of his family dangling from the rearview mirror.
Not the prototype to sell a story to the tabs.
“I’m talking about us.” I dropped my voice, just in case.
“Not familiar with that term.” Ransom popped his knuckles.
I felt pathetic, pressing forward when he clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but knew I’d be the loser if I didn’t pursue him. Ransom treated sex as an outlet, as a game. His partners changed often. Me? I neededhim. No one else could do for me. He was sexy, but also safe. He could guide me out of my androphobia.
“I’m talking about what happened two nights ago.”
He put his phone down, studying me. His eyes asked me to drop it. I held his gaze, not letting go.
“Mistakes happen.” He shrugged finally. “Look at my track record.”
“That was no mistake. We couldn’t stop.”
“Precisely,” he countered. “That is the definition of an accident.”
We weaved through a long traffic jam, with at least twenty more minutes until we got home. He was stuck in this conversation, whether he liked it or not.
“I have a proposition.” I licked my lips.
“The answer is no.”
“You haven’t even heard it.”
“Don’t need to.” He picked up his phone again. I snatched it from his hand and tucked it into my front pocket.
He arched an eyebrow. “All right. You got my attention. What is it, Princess?”
“Two nights ago…it was the first time I’ve been with a man. And I felt good. Secure. I even…you know.” I shifted in my seat. “Climaxed.”
“I know.” He looked pained. Like he was suffering through the conversation. I bet he was. His sexual encounters never included any sort of pillow talk.
“This is a huge win for me.”
“I’m happy for you. Truly.” He stared at me, waiting for the punch line.
“We can continue doing this…discreetly, until your post is up,” I suggested.
He was still. So still, for a second, I wondered if he’d turned into a pillar of salt.
“Are you out of your mind?” he asked finally. “That would be a gross violation of my contract, not to mention a stain on my already filthy conscience. You’re the ward. You’re under my protection. What kind of scumbag would take advantage of that?”
The driver jacked up the volume of the music, signaling that he had absolutely no interest in listening to this negotiation, and that we ought to keep it down.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Random. If someone is going to be taking advantage of someone here, it’d be me of you.”