Page 17 of Watch Me Burn
It took a while for me to catch on to what she was referring to—and when I got it, I got it.
“Holy crap!” I beamed, rushing to look at the laptop screen with her. This time, she didn’t swat me away, although our faces hovered inches apart. Gosh! The scent of a woman. Delicious . . . maddening.
“Look!” she twitted while pointing at the message button that was now on his profile. “We can talk to him now. Finally, we’re one step closer to solving this.”
Realistically speaking, this was at best a speck in what we’d need to uncover. But my heart still swelled at the progress we were able to dig our hands into.
“We should send him a message quickly,” I said on a more serious note. “It’s best we get our story out of the way and go straight for a meeting.”
Anna tapped her chin. “You’re right . . . I was thinking we could ask him the questions over Messenger or Skype, but it’s better to meet in person. It usually helps getting more out of someone. Anything said or written on the internet will be there forever.”
I chuckled. “True that. Some of the inmates used to sneak phones into their bunks and text their girlfriends on Facebook—sending dick pics, you know. Some didn’t realize it was a public post.”
Once I divulged the story, I regretted it out of fear I’d treaded past her “charity” boundaries, but she didn’t seem irked about it at all. In fact, she perched her chin on an arm and laughed.
“And which girlfriend did you send pics?” she joked. I rubbed my chin exaggeratedly, licking my lips.
“Hmmm, if I had to say, it’d be Bianca. She was feisty and brunette, how I usually like my women,” I joked. There were no women for me in prison. No letters, no dirty texts on smuggled cellphones.
Anna’s lips curled up in intrigue, though she didn’t pry further.
“Gee, I really hope this is going to work!” She rubbed her hands together before typing out a string of words on the keyboard. When she was done, I scanned the contents of what she wrote.
“You know, for a guy who never finished high school, I don’t think I’m the most qualified to proofread,” I teased.
Anna punched my shoulder playfully, taunting, “You seem like the kind of inmate who would read a lot.”
“I did.”
I shot her a coy look, reading the last bits of her message. “Looks good,” I concluded. “Better hit ‘send’ before he changes his mind and unfriends you.”
She tapped the send button, and our message was well on its way to reaching the cobwebs of Lautner’s likely archaic inbox.
“Now,” Anna said, dancing her fingers along the kitchen island’s edge. “How do you think we should celebrate?” Her perky chest was daringly close to my bare arms, and all I could think of was grabbing her in my arms so I could melt into her sultry embrace.
“I am fresh out of prison, so no alcohol.” I winked. Striding to her cupboard, I plucked a bottle of wine from one of the bottom cabinets. “2009 Chateau Blanc? Fancy.”
Smirking, Anna remarked, “Just because public defenders get paid less than lawyers doesn’t mean we do that bad.” She tried to snatch the bottle out of my hands, but I leveraged it above our heads.
“Hey!” She laughed, hopping to pull it down.
I kept lurching higher whenever she went flat on her toes and stooping lower when she jumped to swipe the bottle from me. “Almost,” I snickered.
I was so engrossed in the thrill of watching her suffer that I hadn’t taken notice of the wall behind me, recoiling off of it and into Anna when I hit it roughly.
“Woah!” I shrieked right as I cushioned her fall in a semi-princess carry. We both locked onto another’s eyes, our breaths measured as our lips were only inches apart.
“Ethan . . .” Anna whispered. Her lips were red, bright from fresh lipstick. I hated her for what she did fifteen years ago, but at the same time . . . an urge was tingling inside of me.
Anna pushed herself from my chest, speed-walking toward her room as I called her back.
“Anna!” I shouted.
She turned on her heel, stammering, “What?”
Hardening my face, I advanced closer to her. She stepped backwards, but I eventually trapped her against a wall. “I’m sorry for teasing you.” I brought a hand up to her cheek, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. Then, I lowered my hand down, tracing the shape of her lips.
“So smooth . . .” I whispered, barely able to control myself. We hadn’t even poured a glass of wine, and I was already drunk with lust.
