“GOOD AFTERNOON, DEANNA.”
“Hey, Doc.” I bite into an apple, moving the phone away from my mouth as I chew.
“How are you doing today?”
“Haven’t killed anybody yet.” I smile, expecting—hoping for a chuckle. I should know better. Disapproving silence meets my ears, and I make a face into the receiver. “It’s a joke, Derek. I’m good.”
“Are you taking your meds?”
“Yep,” I lie smoothly, the word coming out casual, so perfect I decide to elaborate a bit, just because I’m bored and we have a half hour to fill. “I’m thinking about getting on birth control. Will the medicine affect that?”
Total silence. I grin, wishing I could see his face. “Why?” he finally manages, his voice tight and uncomfortable.
“Why what?” I crunch happily away.
“Why would you get on birth control?”
“For the same reason that normal people do. To avoid pregnancy.”
“You’re having sex?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Deanna, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I frown. “I’m not asking your permission. It’s my body. My life.” It’s not that I’m surprised by Derek’s response; he hasn’t exactly been on board with my relationship. But my flippant tease of Derek does bring to mind the risks associated if Jeremy and I do take that next step. The risks that are more emotionally damaging than physical. I don’t worry about physically hurting him during the act of sex. He has held me at bay enough to dissuade that fear. Plus, any homicidal thoughts seem to flee the moment my arousal begins. But emotionally… I think we are both in danger. I’m in danger of falling for a man who will one day discover the black actions of my soul and leave me. He’s in danger of falling for a girl who may one day kill him.
“It’s too dangerous, Dee. What if you lose control? When an individual is swept away by passion, they often lose common sense, the ability to make good decisions…” His voice trails off.
“I’m not gonna stop midfuck and strangle him with my libido,” I say dryly, chucking my apple core in the direction of the trash and groaning when it misses.
“When are you planning on being intimate? And will it be during the day or at night? Have you thought these details through?” His voice has increased in agitation, and I would bet a million dollars he is standing right now, pacing behind his desk, his face twisted in frustration.
I roll my eyes, standing and walking over to the apple, picking it up and throwing it away. “Killing doesn’t seem to be on my mind when we are… please don’t say ‘intimate.’ It makes you sound ancient. And you’re… what—under fifty, right?” It is a weak attempt at sleuthing. I know so little about this man, other than that he has a smooth voice that could make a killing in phone sex, should he ever be so inclined. I’ve considered siccing Mike on him, but that seems invasive, like something that shouldn’t be done to a friend. Plus, the fantasies of Derek make it all the more fun. Chances are he’s George Costanza with a mullet, and there’s no way I can fantasize to that image. Better that I envision him leaning back in his chair, a Josh Duhamel type, with glasses, his suit unbuttoned, twirling a pen lazily as he reaches down and adjusts his hardening cock.
“How long have you been considering this?”
I pretend that there’s a bit of a hitch to his tone, a thickening that indicates arousal. “A while.” Definitely under fifty. “And please, just call it what it is. No more ‘intimate’ terminology.”
“Which is?”
Okay, I’m not crazy. There is definitely a bit of a sexual drawl in that question. I grin, letting my voice drop and my tone change. “Fucking, Derek. Crazy, screammynamelouder fucking.”
Silence. Maybe I took that answer a little too far.
“Time’s up, Deanna,” he says shortly, and I glance at the wall clock, silently arguing with him that we have eight minutes left. “Your medication will not affect, or be affected by, birth control. Please note that I strongly suggest you refrain from any sexual activity as it could trigger an episode. Especially at night.”
A click, absolute and decisive, sounds through the cell phone’s receiver, and he is gone. I look to the other side of my apartment, to my bed of sex, cameras, toys, and lingerie spread all over its surface. Refrain from any sexual activity? Bitch, please.