The Position 3 by Izzy Mason Read Free Book Online

 
    “Mickey, I’m going to see you home.”  
    “Why?”
    “What do you mean, why?” He lets out a short, exasperated breath through his nose. “I’m going to make sure you get home safe, that’s why. What is wrong with you?”  
    “I’ve been getting myself home all on my own for a long time now, you know. I don’t need anyone looking out for me. I’m a big girl.”  
    “Well, it looked like you needed someone tonight. It’s no big deal, Mickey. It isn’t a sign of weakness to let someone get you out of a bind.”
    My cheeks go scarlet and I fall silent. He’s obviously right. How can I play the tough, independent girl when I just let things get so out of hand with Chance. The thought of what might have happened if Lazarus hadn’t shown up flashes through my brain and I shudder. Lazarus takes advantage of my hesitation and slips into the cab. He closes the door.  
    “Go,” he says firmly to the driver.  
    The driver is staring at both of us, befuddled. He looks at me as if waiting for me to confirm. I look away and nod. The car pulls out. I’m painfully aware of Lazarus’s body so close to me. As usual, he smells amazing. I hate it. It’s like there’s something in the constitution of his skin, his taut muscle and heat that pulls magnetically at every cell in my body. Whether I want it to or not.  
    For a while we ride in silence. Lazarus rubs at his knuckles, which rest between his legs. I steal a glance at him. The street lights streak past, creating splashes of light on his face that break up the shadows. His face is tense, but beautiful. Perfection. I sigh.
    “I guess I just proved you right,” I mutter, turning to look out the window.  
    I can feel him turn, his eyes on me. “Right about what?”  
    “That I’m a whore.”  
    Silence. I look over at him and meet his eyes. They’re completely mystified, as if he’s just walked into the middle of a movie and hasn’t caught up with the plot.  
    “Mickey, what are you talking about? I don’t think you’re a whore.”  
    What the fuck? I’m starting to think it’s me that’s crazy. That I dreamed up the whole freaking thing. But I fish the phone out of my purse and tap tap tap… There it is. Don’t contact me again. Whore. I hand the phone to Lazarus. Read it and weep.
    Lazarus takes the phone and stares at the screen. I watch his eyes squint in disbelief. His brow furrows in confusion. His mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. Then a look comes over his face, a realization that falls over him like the shadows. Darkness shrouds his face. Fury. Suddenly, his fist slams into the door.  
    “Fuck!”
    Both the driver and I jump.  
    “Hey, buddy. Cool it!” the driver shouts.  
    But Lazarus doesn’t seem to hear him. “Pull over,” he barks.  
    The driver brakes and drifts to the curb. I look around. We’re in an unfamiliar neighborhood full of ugly, shuddered strip malls and gas stations. Lazarus drops the phone on the seat and pushes himself through the door.  
    “Stay right here,” he commands the driver without turning around.  
    The driver and I watch him walk quickly across a small parking lot toward a Chinese restaurant with missing letters on its neon sign. Both hands push into his hair. He stops and his hands briefly cover his face. I get the sense he’s trying to restrain himself from shouting blue murder to the skies. What’s happening? I can’t understand anything.  
    Lazarus paces a few times, wild animal style, then he turns quickly and strides back to the car. He climbs inside and closes the door. His eyes are still inky and strange, but he’s calm.  
    “Let’s go.”  
    The cabbie hesitates, and then pulls onto the street again. I watch Lazarus with curiosity and confusion, but say nothing. He’s staring blankly ahead. He looks dazed, lost. Hopeless. Finally, he turns to look at me. His eyes slowly warm back to amber. They’re full of regret.  
    “That was Celestina.”  
    I gape at him.