We Have Till Dawn - Cara Dee Page 0,6

“Nothing beyond what you already know. Ask before assuming, pay attention to his body language, and don’t initiate touch until he says it’s okay.”

A little bit of a problem there, considering I’d be blindfolded.

“How old is he?” Anthony asked.

“Forty-four,” I replied. “He said he’s got Asperger’s, but I thought you told me they stopped diagnosing that one.”

“It’s probably an older diagnosis, then.” He shrugged a little. “As long as you communicate properly, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

And what if what I called communicating, Gideon called chitchat?

Oh, whatever. Time would tell. It wasn’t my first rodeo, and I was good at reading people. Once upon a time, I’d been one of Tina’s most popular escorts. I was quick on my feet, and that helped.

By eight thirty the following evening, I was clean as a whistle and sitting on the edge of the bed, eating Chinese food naked. Asshole waxed, area around my cock trimmed, balls and face shaved. I was as cute as I was hot. Though, I doubted Gideon would take full advantage tonight since we weren’t getting the test results until Monday. But he was free to feel me up and explore good and proper.

I felt a sense of melancholy that I didn’t understand, but it could be the song playing on my laptop on the kitchen table. Anthony had sent me the live recording from our last gig, and the cover we’d played, “Cages,” was special to me. It wasn’t so much the lyrics as it was the two of us playing together. Up onstage was where I loved working with my brother the most.

I stuck some noodles into my mouth and caught sight of my reflection in the window as Anthony’s voice filled the air. He sang as if he’d been through all the circles of hell and come back to tell the world about it. It was both strong and raspy. A voice with a force to be reckoned with. Mine was gentler and lower, and I couldn’t hit the highest notes that he did with ease.

My reflection blended in with the city lights and the silhouettes of the skyscrapers, and I cocked my head and drew my hand through my hair. I was due for a cut soon, but I usually waited until Anthony pointed it out. Because he’d share some story of how I’d inherited our mother’s hair. It was wavier. Anthony would weave his fingers through it sometimes and smile a little in a way that told me he was thinking of her.

Then he’d say, “Time for a cut, bambino.”

These two months couldn’t go by fast enough. As much as I was loving living in my own apartment in Manhattan, my dream was to go into business with Anthony. With $20,000, we could expand. We could build the recording studio we had the equipment but no space for, we could hire another teacher and start more classes…

Still no rock in the pit of my stomach.

I was sure it had to do with my finally having a fucking plan.

The iPad lit up next to me, and I swallowed the food in my mouth and opened the message from Gideon.

Arriving at ten. This is a reminder to close the curtains and put on the sleep mask. Instructions for the evening: lie on your back on the bed, without any clothes or covers, and don’t make a sound or movement unless I ask you a direct question or something is wrong. Please confirm.

The melancholy took a hike and was replaced by a familiar thrill I hadn’t felt since I first began working for Tina.

There was a possibility I would actually find this exciting.

I responded after sticking half an egg roll into my mouth.

Understood. Curtains closed, mask on, no covers, no sound, no movement.

Here we go.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about the light, so I left the one on the nightstand on, because I didn’t think Gideon would arrive with night-vision goggles. Then I folded down the duvet on the bed and took my spot in the middle. The sleep mask sat snugly and didn’t allow for any peeking; I couldn’t even see anything along the edges.

Deep breaths.

I relaxed against the mattress and tried to push away those invasive, obsessive thoughts that tended to creep in before I met a new client. The panicky ones that yelled that Gideon could be a serial killer or kidnapper. That kind of shit.

Deep breaths.

I adjusted my pillows and suppressed a shiver. It wasn’t warm enough in the apartment to walk around