The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense by Marata Eros Page B

it though?
    I nod, realize she can't see it and tap out: Yes. For now.
     
    I can almost see Faren shrug. I'm shrugging too. Big time.
     
    Me: I see Ax tomorrow. If it's more than a social call I'll have to let Ax know the deets.
    Faren: You mean the guy that—helped—back in the day.
    I swallow the pain of a million pieces of jagged memories. I mentally cringing as they cut me.
     
    Me: Yes.
    Faren: Okay, if you think it's safe. I don't like you seeing anyone from back then unless it's Thorn, for obvious reasons.
    Me: He's busy with Juliette, playing house in NYC.
    Faren: But he's never too busy to talk to you, Kiki.
    Me: Thorn doesn't dig Chet.
     
    A half-minute ticks by.
     
    Faren: Maybe there's a reason.
    Me: Maybe.
    Faren: Just—be careful. K?
    Me: Yeah!
    Faren: Love ya, Kik.
    Me: You too.
     
    *
     
    The day comes in clear and cold, Christmas a promise only two weeks away. I spend way too much time primping in front of the mirror. I'm trying for that ultra-causal, I-didn't-try-too-hard look and getting nowhere.
    Sometimes shit just doesn't come together.
    I sigh, chucking my eye pencil inside the makeup caddy. I take a critical look at myself. My lips are blowfish big. Nude lipstick makes them look somehow Angelina Jolie perfect. At least that's working.
    I pucker and add a dot of gloss. I roll my lips together to spread it. Kohl liner borders my lids, and inky mascara rounds it out. My mother's dark skin gave my bio-scumbucket-dad a run for his money. My skin looks like coffee with a ton of cream. I've always embraced being exotic, and if someone doesn't like it, they can suck it.
    I nod at my reflection and pull a fisherman knit sweater over my head, dumping my hair forward to protect my makeup. I leave my hair in a cloud of dark golden brown, but I tamp down its natural tendency to frizz with product. I roll on leggings and chunky black combat boots. I step back, close the bathroom door, and give myself a head-to-toe in the full-length mirror.
    The full-length mirror is an underused tool, if people's outfits are any indicator. I smirk, feeling a little bratty with my thoughts.
    I move to the kitchen and swoop up my handbag. It's the size of a jumbo jet, and I stuff my cell inside. I grab my gigantic wristwatch and slap on the hot pink goodness. I feel better already. Fashion, the ultimate mood-lifter.
    I feel almost criminal running out to meet Ax with my parts still deliciously sore from Chet.
    It's a little slutty and more than a little perfect. My dark secret.
    The biggest challenge will be to not over-analyze shit.
    The memories don't have a place to land if I'm thinking about something good.
    Like Chet.
     
    *
     
    I trek up the steep knoll to the sundial. The grass is a dull green, faded like straw hanging onto the last luster of the season. The wind whips my loosely bound hair to pieces, and strands bite at my neck and jaw.
    This is the spot where we met if I needed to get away. It was safe—our secret.
    Gasworks Park has been around since forever, turn-of-the-last-century antique-y. It always makes me feel safe. Post-industrial parts tower in strangled stands of antiquated rust. They’re like sculptures of the past, watching over us like indifferent stewards.
    I see Ax right away. He stands slightly off-center of the bronze-and-stone sundial. His feet rest on what looks like a blooming flower of granite.
    He appears exactly how I remember him, reminding me a little of Thorn. Maybe it's an invisible survival shroud we three wear. I don't dwell on stuff though. Over six feet and tightly muscled, though he doesn’t have the definition that Chet has, Ax is bigger than Chet but not as tall. They’re a sharp contrast to each other, and I can't help but compare them. Ax's deep chocolate skin is a background to startling cat-like hazel-amber eyes.
    He sees me, and a flash of white slices his dark face as he waves.
    I'd been walking, but now I jog to reach him.
    He opens his arms, and I sail into