Losing Control by Jen Frederick Read Free Book Online Page B

looked it up in the dictionary, your face would be there.”
    “They could be for my mom,” he says mildly. Jesus, does nothing offend this guy?
    “Then you’ve got a weird thing going on with your mom.”
    “Am I Oedipus instead of Batman today?”
    I stare at him blankly. I have no idea who the fuck Oedipus is. I haven’t ever heard of the guy’s name before. Better that way, I think. Safer.
    The sales associate is beaming at us. “So all of this?” Her arms are laden with tiny folded packages.
    “All of it,” Ian says immediately.
    As she is ringing it up, I start feeling terrible. The prices are so high and while I knew it when I walked in, the enormity of my spitefulness is sinking in. “Wait," I say. "I don’t think she needs all this.” I try to scoop away half of the loot.
    He places his hand on mine and I’m frozen. “No. This is just the right amount.”
    Both the sales lady and I are gaping at him. I’m completely torn now. Part of me is raging mad that some chick is getting this stuff and then I feel guilty for being petty and sad that I don’t have anyone buying underwear for me.
    "Box it up,” he orders the clerk.
    She does, folding each piece into its own separate tissue. Another associate brings a big, white box. Every piece goes into the gold-lined box and it takes three of them to wrap up the box with a bow and stick it in a bag.
    “Anything else?” She gives him a card and writes her name on it. “Just give me a call. For anything at all.”
    “Thanks, but I’m not taking it. I want it delivered.” He writes down the address. She starts to say it out loud but he reaches out and taps her lips. They fall open and I think I see her tongue creep out to lick his finger, but it falls away before she can get to it. I don’t blame her. I’d have wanted to lick the finger too. He’s a menace. He should be locked up.
    He taps the card he just wrote on and says, “These are all the details you need to know.”
    He leads me outside by the elbow and doesn’t let go until we’re in front a nightclub whose metal gate is down and is tagged with graffiti. He pulls out his wallet and hands me three crisp 100 bills.
    I shove it back. “I can’t take it,” I say miserably. “I bought way more stuff just to punish you.”
    He folds the one hundred dollar bills in half and then half again. I look longingly at them and then force my eyes up to his striking green ones. I kind of hate that he’s so good looking. I wish whoever was in charge of looks gave them out according to how they were inside. So many good-looking people walking around who are absolute monsters. My stepbrother is exhibit A and this guy is Exhibit B. Or vice versa. Either way, they are both prime examples of how karma never ever works. What goes around never comes around. The next person who says “karma” near me will get a throat punch.
    “That’s a fierce look. I hope you aren’t directing it toward me.” He’s still holding the folded bills between us.
    "What were you doing here anyway?"
    "I have a couple of businesses I was checking on."
    "Is that what we’re calling them now?"
    "There’s another word for ‘business’ that’s been approved by the people at Oxford Dictionary? I thought the only new words allowed were ‘wassup’ and ‘hashtag,’ neither of which are euphemisms for business.”
    I start laughing. Those words coming out of that elegant mouth seem hilariously profane. He smiles at me and then places a finger on my forehead. It’s like he’s pressed a mute button because my laughter dies off immediately and saliva starts pooling in my mouth. He drags his finger down between my eyes and over the ridge of my nose. Time’s suspended now and I can’t move.
    “If I ask you to have a meal with me, are you going to say no?”
    I nod my head. “Will you give me the job?”
    “You don’t want it.” His hand drops away.
    “I do.” I pause and clarify, “Or at least I want the