What He Explores (What He Wants, Book Twenty-One) Read Free Page B

bulged around her body in certain places. It wasn’t that the dress didn’t fit her – it was obviously her size and it looked expensive, the kind of dress that would have been made and cut well. No, the fit wasn’t the problem. It was more like the dress was stretched, like it hadn’t been cared for properly – either balled up on the floor and forgotten about for a long period of time, or thrown into a dryer when the tag said dry clean only.
    Her hair was in a fluffy halo around her head and last night’s eye liner caked her eyes. But the oddest thing of all was that she was wearing slippers on her feet.
    “Mom,” I said, my heart pounding. “Mom, what the hell happened to you?”
    “Oh, Charlotte, I am so glad to see you.” She practically threw herself against me, her arms wrapping around my neck, her frame feeling even more delicate than usual as she rested her body weight on me.
    When she pulled back, I realized she was eating a soft pretzel covered in mustard.
    “The nice man at the cart gave me this,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at him.
    A man with a bushy beard gave her a smile and a wave. Great. He probably thought she was homeless.
    “Pamela, what happened?” Noah asked gravely.
    “Oh, it’s too embarrassing,” she said, with a nervous giggle.
    “Mom, where are your shoes?” I asked.
    “I just…” She trailed off and fluffed her hair, giving another laugh.
    “Pamela,” Noah said, sounding impatient. “You need to tell us what happened.”
    She nodded, evidently deciding to listen to him even if she wouldn’t listen to her own daughter. “I was on a date,” she said, glancing at me with trepidation.
    It was one of the first times I could remember my mother looking at me with any kind of anxiety or worry about what my reaction might be to something she’d said. I didn’t delude myself into thinking she cared about my opinion – more likely she was afraid I would insist on telling my stepfather she was having an affair. If that was what she was worried about, she needn’t have bothered.
    I had zero interest in getting involved in my mother’s romantic life.
    “Mom – ” I started impatiently, but Noah gave me a warning squeeze of my hand.
    I glanced up at him and he gave me a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. I knew what he was thinking. Don’t push her or she won’t talk. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
    “It was a wonderful date,” she said, taking another bite of her pretzel and wiping at her mouth daintily with a napkin. “He took me to dinner at the Russian Tea Room. I didn’t even know the Russian Tea Room was still around, did you, Charlotte?”
    I was no socialite, but I wasn’t sure the Russian Tea Room was what it used to be. It seemed like it attracted old money and really snooty rich people, and that it wasn’t at all hip or modern. But my mother probably thought it was so sophisticated.
    I didn’t answer her question, opting to stay silent rather than risk losing it and causing a scene in the middle of Union Square.
    “Anyway, we had the best dinner, and then we went dancing and then he took me back to his apartment.” She swallowed a bite of pretzel and thrust her chin in the air, daring me to judge her for sleeping with someone on a first date. When I still didn’t say anything, she said, “He was very gentle.”
    “Gross,” I said under my breath.
    Noah’s took his hand from mine and slipped it around my waist, pulling me toward him. The feel of his touch on my hip was steadying, and I felt my heart rate instantly slow, my anxiety instantly dissipating.
    “Pamela, where are your shoes?” Noah asked, his voice gentle but firm. “And your phone?”
    “Well, that’s the thing.” She was finished with her pretzel now, and she crumpled up the clear wrapper and twisted it nervously in her hands. “This morning, my date, his…his whole demeanor just changed. He asked me to go downstairs to get the