shudder even thinking about them. In my experience, all men ever want is sex, and I’m not giving it to them, so they quickly grow tired of trying and move on.
Most of them anyway. Obviously, I can be bought and sold.
Shit.
I shake that thought from my head as Davis sets two plates on the table. He heads for the living room and comes back with our water bottles. “Eat, sweetie. You have to be starving.”
I pick up a slice of the pizza and blow on the end so that I won’t burn the roof of my mouth, but my mind is on the way he keeps calling me sweetie. It’s just an endearment. He probably calls everyone sweetie. But I prefer to pretend he has assigned the affectionate nickname to me alone and that it means something.
While we eat, I slowly think of things and write them on the list. I don’t own a lot. It won’t be hard to make his way around my space. He’s going to find out more about me than anyone alive knows though. Can’t be avoided. By the time he returns, he’ll know I’m dirt poor, everything I own is second-hand, I’m a slob, the only makeup in my bathroom is costume stuff for work, I don’t own jewelry that didn’t come from the dollar store, and my hair products include one item—a brush.
I wish he didn’t have to learn so much about me. It’s embarrassing. But he’s adamant, and thinks this threat is serious, so I’m not going to argue. Besides, I get the feeling Davis is the sort of guy not many people argue with.
I glance up at him as I finish my pizza. “Uh, seems like I should tell you that I’m a slob. My place is small, and it’s a mess.”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s not that bad.” He stands, tosses our plates in the sink, stuffs my list in his pocket, and then lifts me from the stool to set me on the floor so fluidly that it’s obviously second nature to him. I’m instantly jealous of his ex-girlfriend and can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be willing to move to Seattle with him. If he were my man, I’d go to Mars if he asked me to.
Who am I kidding? As if someone like Davis would ever be interested in someone like me. What a joke. I need to wipe that line of thinking from my head. He’s helping me out. That’s all. Thinking otherwise will end up biting me in the ass.
He smooths a hand down my hair from the top of my head to the center of my back. “Will you be okay here if I’m gone for a while?”
“Of course,” I murmur. I’m mesmerized by him.
“You can fix up the bed. I put shampoo and conditioner and soap in your bathroom. I didn’t know what to get, so it’s just whatever.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I reassure him. I’m sure it’s nicer than anything I’ve ever had.
“Well, okay. I need to run by the office and take care of a few things.” He gives me a stern look. “Don’t open the door to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
He snaps his fingers and turns around to grab another piece of paper. A moment later he jots something down and hands it to me. “My cell number. Put it in your phone and text me in the next few minutes so I’ll have yours. If anything seems even remotely unnerving to you, call me.”
“Okay.”
“Other than that, make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table.”
I clear my throat. “How am I going to get to work tomorrow?” We left my car at the shelter. Davis insisted.
“We’ll figure that out in the morning. I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”
My eyes widen. “Cindy’s counting on me.”
He strokes my hair again and tips my head back with his thumb under my chin. “Cindy understands. And I don’t want to move your car here just yet. It’s harder to find you if we don’t help them out.”
I nod. Again with his incredible intensity. I can’t decide if I’m really in as much danger as he thinks or if he’s making more out of it than necessary. Obviously, I was spooked enough to leave the club and not even go home, but I keep thinking maybe I misunderstood. Who sells humans?
I shiver, and Davis pulls me into his chest and holds me tight. His hand is still stroking my hair, and it