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become a sex worker for him until such time as I’d paid the money back.  He said with a body like mine, men would pay a lot of money to fuck me.  He’s giving me a couple of days to think about it, but in his own words, obviously he hopes I choose the second option.”  I end quietly, my voice still the same monotone, emotionless sound that I began with.
    “Name?” Oak breaks the silence by rumbling one word.
    “Pardon?”
    “Name?”
    “Uh, the guy’s name?” I ask, unsure.  The feral look in his eyes has me so scared I can’t think straight.  He doesn’t confirm it, but the look in his eyes has me thinking yes, the guy’s name is exactly what he wants. 
    “Miguel.  That’s all he told me.”
    “He touch you?”
    I shake my head no.
    “Out.”  My mind spins at the sudden change of direction in conversation, and before I can question him on it, he’s opening my car door and helping me out of my car.
    “Where are we going?” My voice is a little shrill as he leads me around the hood of my car to the passenger side he’s just vacated.
    “In you go.”  He puts pressure on my shoulder so I fold myself into the seat.  He closes the door with a thud and rounds the hood before lowering himself into the driver’s seat.  He looks hilarious, his big, long, muscular thighs bunched up under the steering wheel.
    “Christ, woman.  You always sit so close to the dash?”
    I giggle out loud, watching him try to find the lever to move the seat back.  He finally does and swiftly deposits himself in the backseat – or near enough!
    He turns the key and revs the engine, before shifting into drive and pulling out of the lot.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Your place.”
    “Oh.”  I’m not ashamed to say, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind, silently hoping he will bring to life all those sexy images he created earlier.
    He pulls up in front of my apartment and I climb out and walk to the front door, fishing my keys from my handbag as I go.  I unlock the door and go to walk in, but he grips my arms and tugs me back behind him. 
    I watch him stalk through my small place and then return.
    “You can come in now.”  He’s obviously satisfied there are no threats hiding in my closet.  I scowl at him, but I’m slightly thankful, because I wouldn’t put it past Miguel to kidnap me in the middle of the night and pack me in a shipping container before sending me on boat to an island far away where sex slaves are sold to the highest bidder. 
    “Would you like a drink?” I ask.  Politeness is probably the way to go, considering if I be a bitch to him, he might run back and inform my brother of certain events.  I don’t want that to happen.
    He nods.  “Coffee.”
    “Coming up.”  I fix us both a coffee and then hand him his mug before sipping from my own.
    “So, umm…” I trail off, suddenly feeling extremely awkward.  It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know why he’s here.  Why is he here?  What is he going to do?  Since he drove me home, how is he getting back to his place, or the clubhouse?  Does he even have a house?  Or does he stay at the clubhouse all the time?  Is his bed king-sized to accommodate his massive frame?  Does he sleep naked?
    Focus, Willa!
    He drains the last of his coffee and rinses the mug out before setting it on the sink.
    “You takin’ a shower?”
    “Huh?” I ask stupidly.
    “Shower.  Are you taking one?”
    “Yeah,” I drag out the word, unsure where he’s going with this.
    “First-Aid kit?”
    “Huh?”  Jesus, Willa, get with the program!  You’re acting like an idiot.
    “First-Aid kit.  You got one?” he asks, slowing his words down on purpose.
    “Yes.  In the cupboard above your head.”
    “Good.  Go shower.  I’ll fix your feet when you’re done.”
    “You’ll fix my feet when I’m done?” I ask, not quite believing what I’m hearing.  Why would he even care enough to fix my blisters?  He hardly knows