Read Online The Heart Of It by M. O'Keefe - Free Book Online Page B

doesn’t. In fact, I made it real clear to Megan that she shouldn’t get to know him at all.”
    “So, she just spied on him?”
    “She did. And I paid her well to do it.”
    “Did she do anything else for you?” I asked. It hardly seemed a job a person could get paid for.
    In his silence I realized what he might be thinking, and I felt blood pound through my body in horrified embarrassment.
    “What are you asking me, Layla?”
    Oh, his voice was suddenly thick with intimacy and now I could not pretend otherwise. Somehow this had gotten sexual. It was the Layla thing that had started it and it was a stupid thing to start. I did not play this kind of game. Didn’t understand it. Was completely embarrassed by it.
    Suddenly restless, I stood up. My skin felt far too keenly the rub of my clothes against it.
    “Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just seems like something a person should do without being paid.”
    “Are you offering to look in on him for me?”
    “Sure.” I picked up my bag and walked down the hallway to the tiny bedroom in the back. The double bed was stripped. A stack of clean sheets sat at the end of the faded flowered mattress.
    “That easy?”
    “That easy.”
    “When’s the last time you said no to someone?” he asked.
    “Why does it matter?”
    “I have a sense, Layla, that you give away your yeses without thinking.”
    Oh, he was right. So damn right.
    “And you want my no’s?”
    “I want something you don’t give away.”
    My knees buckled and I leaned back against the wood-paneled wall, feeling light-headed.
How . . . how did we get here? What has happened to me?
    “Tell me no, Layla,” he murmured.
    No
was dangerous in my old life. A red flag in front of a murderous bull.
    I wasn’t brave enough.
    “No.” It was barely a whisper. A breath. A rebellion that screamed through me. It was like
Les Misérables
in my chest cavity.
    “Do you remember my name?”
    Inherently, somehow I knew what he was asking.
Say my name.
    “No, Dylan.”
    The sound he made—half sigh, half groan—was easily the most erotic sound I’d ever heard, and suddenly there was no more wondering, no more innuendo. He wasn’t asking what I was wearing, but the effect was the same. The
intent
was the same.
    This is . . . oh my God, this is phone sex. I’m having phone sex with a stranger in a shitty trailer in the middle of nowhere!
    I pulled myself away from the wall. My hands in fists.
    “Don’t call me again.” My voice sounded firmer than I’d expected. Firmer than I’d sounded my entire life, and I was proud of myself.
    “I won’t,” he said.
    “Promise.” Why I expected him to keep that promise I had no idea, but having acted so stupid I felt the need to at least attempt smart behavior.
God,
that lie about cleaning the trailer was so see-through. He knew where I lived. He could find me in the middle of the night, break through those flimsy locks— “I promise. You’re safe. Goodbye, Layla.” And he hung up.
    I hung up a moment later, staring down at the phone as if I’d never seen its kind before.
    It’s just a phone,
I thought, despite its near pulsing heat in my hand. Its strange alive-ness. It echoed in me, a foreign nature that was not entirely my own. Something hot-blooded and impulsive.
    Don’t be stupid. Or stop being stupid. Or . . . something.
    I walked back into the kitchen. Turned off the phone and threw it up in a high cupboard. A phone would be a handy thing to have in case of an emergency and when he stopped paying for the service, I’d find a way to get my own.
    My hands were shaking. My whole body quaked like an aspen leaf. I stepped sideways into the tiny bathroom and turned on the faucets. Cold water blasted out, ricocheted off the sink, and sprayed across my body, soaking through my white cotton blouse.
    I sucked in a shocked breath.
    “Damn it,” I muttered and cranked the water back off.
    I pressed cold hands to my eyes and cheeks and then opened my eyes to stare