The Fear of Falling

Chapter Thirty Eight

"Have you seen the pink handcuffs?" I asked, my arms full of Pink Cherry merchandise.

Gavin glanced away from the window and tossed his cleaning rag onto the coffee table. "Have you checked under the bed?"

I nodded. "I have the dildos and flogger, but those fucking handcuffs are hiding from me."

He laughed at my pain. "They'll turn up."

"Before my parents show up?" I stuffed the toys into the pink duffel bag they arrived in.

"Are they going into your bedroom?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Stranger things have happened." Like my mom's compulsive need to check the cleanliness of my room.

The corners of Gavin's mouth twitched, amused by my anxiety. "We'll find it, Megs."

I chewed on my bottom lip. "I know it's not a big deal, but it's the first thanksgiving we're not spending in Florida and I don't want them to think that I don't care about their opinion of me."

He pinched his eyebrows together. "And a lack of handcuffs is going to prove that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Can you just help me look?"

"Of course." Gavin nodded before walking up to me. He placed a kiss on my forehead, then lifted my hoodie and exposed my hip. "How's the tattoo?"

After the initial pain wore off, the itching set in; I subjected Gavin to my never-ending whining for nearly a week.

But other than that, it wasn't a horrid experience. "Good."

He examined the violets, his gaze lingering on my body.

I blushed.

Then, before my wicked thoughts could take over, he led the charge into my bedroom and started peeling back the covers.

"When did we use them last?"

I shrugged while attempting to fight off the steamy memories popping into my head.

Gavin checked underneath the bed, even though I had already looked there.

After confirming what we already knew, he moved to the headboard and made sure we didn't forget them behind the mattress.

When that failed, we stared at each other, bewildered by the disappearing handcuffs.

I opened my mouth to give up, but Gavin's eyes widened.

He hurried past me, out of the bedroom, and to the couch. I followed him, curious.

"Do you remember when you bet me you could get out of the cuffs in under a minute?"

I frowned. "No."

"Right, well, you were about four tequila shots in, so I'm not surprised."

I stared at him while summoning up memories of a night I swore never happened.

"Remember?" he laughed. "We watched that documentary on Houdini last weekend."

Are we really that boring?

"I don't think-"

Gavin lifted the sofa cushions and dug underneath the armrest. Before long, he had pulled up the TV remote, a plastic spoon, and a pair of gently used handcuffs.

My shoulders relaxed. "Oh, thank God."

"That's what you said when I took them off of you." Gavin dangled the cuffs on his finger, tempting me to give my Houdini impression another attempt.