Free Finding Willow (Hers) by Dawn Robertson

his strong embrace. Before I know it, I am moving across the room, half dressed and still holding on for fucking dear life. He carries me like I weigh nothing, only stopping once he reaches the bed. With one arm, he pulls the covers down, before tucking me in. I blink my eyes, taking in the sight before me.
    Chrome stands at the door to the bathroom, pants around his ankles still, disposing of the used condom in the trash. Even after a round of mindblowing sex, his dick is impressive, which is more than I can say for some of the guys I have been with in the past. I try not to let him see me paying him attention, but he catches my stare.
    “What are you thinkin'?” he asks me. I almost answer him. Until I realize a man just asked me what I am thinking after sex. I shake my head, and he drops the conversation. It looks like there is something he wants to say, but he stops. It’s better this way.
    He pulls his pants back up, and heads for the door without looking back. Like that, Chrome walks out the door and out of my life.
    Whatever just happened was more than just sex; there is no fucking way I am ready for anything more than just fucking to get off. Especially right now.
    Thanks for mind-fucking me, you gorgeous fucking douchebag!

The Art of Star
    Once upon a time, long, long ago, I loved to paint. Not puppies or kittens. No flowers or people. Just paint. I would throw paint onto a canvas and actually use it as a way to express my pent up emotions. It was good for me as a little girl; I could get it out and I wouldn't have to actually talk about what was eating at me. I've never been good at talking.
    I laid in bed most of the night, thinking about what happened. The blowjob, River, Chrome, fucking him, the way I felt afterward. Everything that happened in the one day since I left New York City. The first day that was supposed to be the rest of my life, but quickly turned into a rerun of everything I had been doing for years. Maybe it was something I needed to get out of my system? I can hope.
    I pick up some clothes from the top of the dresser: A fitted, long sleeve black and white striped top and a pair of jeans. Nothing fancy. For once, I don't feel the need to stand out like a sore thumb.
    I run a brush through my hair, scrub my teeth down, rinse with Listerine, and make my way for the door. I am a woman on a mission.
    My phone rings and I stop in my tracks. Seven's name appears on the screen and I immediately answer it. I’ve been waiting for this call, because her fancy as fuck private investigator is trying to track down any record of Willow. I’m anxious and my stomach twists and turns while I wait to see what she has come up with.
    “Hello?”
    “You know, when you fucking leave the city, you really should tell Katy where you are going so she isn't blowing up my damn phone all day.” Shit. I completely forgot to call my manager before I skipped town. It’s common sense, something I unfortunately lack most of the time. Story of my damn life.
    “My bad. I will get a hold of her today. I was in a hurry to leave. What’s up?”
    Seven hesitates on the other end, before letting out a deep breath. I can't see her face, but I already know this is going to be bad. She isn't good at hiding shit from me, and I can pick up on her tone all the way across the state through this shitty cell connection.
    “Davis is going to call you. He found something.”
    My heart stops. I want to find Willow desperately, but I doubt I want to know exactly what he found. It’s an internal battle I face on a daily basis. Do I want to be crushed if I can never find her? Will I end up more damaged than I already am? Will it be healing? Fuck, I hate thinking about it all. The line is still silent, and I know Seven is waiting for me to say something. She doesn't want to break the awkward silence between us.
    “Okay, can you have him give me a call now?”
    She pauses, and I wait. I’m still standing by the door of this shitty, dated