Megan Hart - Switch

stray lettuce into the taco shel.

I was caught, though he couldn't know it. "I like the extra-

huge drinks."

Eric nodded as though what I'd said made sense. I

excused myself to use the restroom. I wasn't eating

anything, but I stil wanted to wash my hands and face

after the walk. My phone vibrated from my pocket and I

puled it out to find an unexpected picture text message.

A taco.

No message, just the photo, but I knew it at once as the

one in front of Eric. I fel back to lean against the stal's

metal wal, my phone clutched to my heart. I wanted to

dance. I wanted to laugh. Then I washed my hands quickly

and patted my face with a wet paper towel. I hesitated

only a minute before typing a reply. Fast food wil rot your

guts. Next time when I give you a reward, I expect you to

guts. Next time when I give you a reward, I expect you to

treat yourself to something worthwhile.

The words felt stilted without my paper and pen and the

luxury of time. Standing in a public bathroom that reeked

of disinfectant, it was hard to conjure up an image of

myself as a wickedly commanding mistress. Yet there was

no denying the thril rippling through me when I hit the send

button.

Eric had finished his taco by the time I got back. If he

thought anything of how long it had taken me, he didn't

mention it. He baled up his wrapper and tossed al the

trash as I picked up my cup.

"We could start back," I said just as his phone erupted in a jangle.

"Excuse me," he said and waited the bare half second for

me to nod my assent. He flipped open the phone and his

eyes scanned the message. He smiled and tucked it back

into his pocket. "Ready?"

"Can we go back a little slower?" I lifted my cup.

"Sure." Eric roled his head on his neck then patted his

stomach with a grin. "If you want."

The darkening sky and sudden chil breeze kept us from

dawdling, but the conversation made the time pass just as

fast as if we'd been running. I forgot for a moment or two,

listening, that I was deceiving him and that I knew his

secrets. Eric had a great sense of humor and was smart.

God, was he smart, but not in the way that made me feel

stupid. He talked about a lot of subjects, always leaving

room for me to comment. And he listened, realy listened

to my answers. By the time we got back to the Manor the

first drops of cold spring rain were spattering, and I was

half in love with him.

"I need to go in," I said at the front door. "Thanks for the soda."

"I'm going to head down the other direction. Get another

mile or so in. It's my day off," Eric explained. "I need

something to work off some of the stress, you know?"

I could help him with that, but I couldn't exactly say so.

"Sure. See you around."

He waved and left me at the door. Upstairs in my

apartment, I stripped out of my clothes and ran the

apartment, I stripped out of my clothes and ran the

shower, where I scrubbed away the sweat and thought

about Eric. I had the unfair advantage, no doubt about it. I

tipped my face into the spray, thinking of his smile and

laugh, and then the stroke of his fist on his cock. I knew

things I had no right to know.

I couldn't decide if I liked him better because I knew, and

I had no way to tel. I'd noticed him before I found out.

Maybe that meant it was fate. Or coincidence. Or stupid,

dumb luck. Maybe if I hadn't put two and two together I'd

have already forgotten about him. Or at least fucked him.

But I hadn't done either of those things, so I did this,

instead.

Your time is no longer your own. Every minute belongs

to me. No matter what else you're doing, I expect your

thoughts to be of how your actions would please or

displease me. To this end, I expect a full accounting of

your evening from 6:00 p.m. until midnight. Hourly,

you will text your whereabouts to me and your

activities of the past hour .

Chapter 23

"You have our numbers, right?" Stela was running late, as usual.

"Yep."

I'd arrived on time with a handful of gossip magazines I'd

picked up to get me through an evening of watching the

Cartoon Network or listening to Tyler's commentary on

his latest video game. My dad had promised me dinner but

that meant a couple of frozen pizzas already heading

toward burned in the oven.

She hopped on one foot to slide the strap of her shoe

higher on her heel while she fumbled with an earring at the

same time. The woman was incredibly coordinated. She

got both ends of her situated and put her foot down, then

looked at me. "Have you lost weight?"

I looked at myself. "I guess so. Some."

Stela did a slow circle around me, staring. "You look

good. That skirt is nice. Ann Taylor?"

Leave it to Stela to look at my ass and see a brand name.

She didn't need to know I bought it at the Salvation Army.

"Yes."

"Nice. I have a great bag that would go with those shoes,

too. Let me go grab it."

"Stela," my dad broke in. "We're going to be late."

Stela fixed him with a look that put him in his place.

"Vince, realy. It's ten minutes away. Let me just run up

and grab the bag for Paige."

My dad folowed her with a fond look as she ran up the

stairs. He always looked at her that way, as though he was

granting her every wish and it made him happy to do it. It

probably did. I sometimes wondered if he'd ever looked at

my mom that way.

"Where are the boys?" I asked him.

He waved a hand toward the den. "In there, somewhere."

"Have a good time," I told him just as Stela reappeared

with a truly monstrous purse.

She handed it to me with a beaming smile. "Here. Won't

they match just perfectly?"

I looked at my pointy-toed boots and then at the bag.

They were both black but that was where any matching I

saw ended. The bag sported several huge gold buckles,

and the straps had been braided with gold lamé. Tassels

dangled. That purse had more bling than Flava Flav's

mouth.

I thanked her anyway, but she held the purse back when I

reached for it. Stela shook her head slowly and eyed me.

She put the bag on the kitchen table.

"No. You know, that's not realy for you, after al. It's not

realy your style, is it, Paige?"

I was too surprised that she thought I had a style to

disagree even for politeness. "No. Not realy."

"Stela. Time." My dad tapped his watch.

She sighed. "Oh, wel. I thought it would look so cute with

those boots, but honestly, Paige, you've got a much…

cleaner…style. Now."

It wasn't the cleanest of compliments, but I smiled anyway.

"You'd better get going."

In a cloud of perfume and the jingle of jewelry, she finaly

alowed him to pul her away. I walked them to the front

door and closed it after them, but it took me until I

reached the kitchen again to realize something. Even a few

months ago, Stela's compliment would have had me

buzzing with resentful gratitude. Now…it wasn't that I

didn't care. It was more that it didn't matter.

My phone buzzed against my thigh and I puled it out with

a smile.

Just showered. Am eating a turkey sandwich. Have a

video to watch. I'm alone on a Saturday night.

He might be expecting an answer, but that wasn't part of

the plan, so I put my phone back in my pocket and turned