33

Rita

"Dinner was good," I say, climbing into bed. I pull the sheets over me as Scar stands nearby in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, looking like he's on set for an underwear modeling job.

"You get along well with Molly," he says, watching me, eyes roaming over to the empty side of the bed. "Did you really mean what you asked about kids?"

"Absolutely," I say, feeling sleepy and barely resisting it. Lying out in the sun all afternoon took a lot out of me. "I think I got a sunburn on my arm."

He moves closer, still looking at me. His face is tense, almost anxious, but I don't know why. "Orin said something to me while we were outside. He wants me to move to Boston."

I roll over to frown at him. "Really? That's a lot to ask."

"He's not a normal client. Anyone else and I'd tell them to fuck off. But Orin Callahan?" He shakes his head, clearly torn. "This is my chance, Rita."

I sit up on an elbow. I like the way his eyes drift down my arm, to my shoulder, to my chest, back up to my lip