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Which had been partially why I moved out of the house that had been close to Jubilee.
Not only had her stalker wired my place as well, but I’d also had an over-zealous fan of my father’s break in to steal something of his. Despite my father not actually living with me and all.
But after that incident paired with Jubilee’s crazy guy, I just couldn’t stay in that place anymore. I had to get away.
“Your dad has a lot of crazies?” he asked, pulling out a set of keys and completely dismissing me.
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved by that or offended.
I was feeling a lot of emotions right then, and a lot of them were centered in my vagina.
I wanted him. Badly.
So badly, in fact, had he acted like he wanted me even a little bit, I would’ve let him have me.
Honest to God, I was beginning to find out that a lot of things when they came to Castiel, I had no control over. My body’s reaction being one of those things.
“Yes,” I said as I followed him up the porch steps and into his dark, cold house.
I instantly shivered and wrapped my arms around my belly to try to retain some of my heat.
Since I’d lost weight, I’d turned into a big weenie. I couldn’t go outside during sixty-degree weather without needing a freakin’ coat.
Before, sixty degrees would be what I was comfortable in wearing shorts and a tank top.
“And they follow you around or something trying to get to him?” he asked.
I didn’t really want to get into this. It was bad enough that I got into it with my father. Getting into it with a cop who already disliked me? Yeah, no.
Searching for something to change the subject, I started to gaze around the small cabin that Castiel was busy moving around turning on lights.
My eyes hit a guitar that was leaning up against the wall next to the door.
“You play?” I asked before I could stop myself.
I loved playing guitar.
Loved. It.
“Sometimes,” he muttered, sounding reluctant to answer.
A man of many words.
He disappeared into what I assumed was the bedroom and came back out moments later with a pillow and blanket. One that looked like it came straight off his bed.
He threw them down onto the couch and then pointed to another door that I hadn’t seen before. “Bathroom is through there. There’s a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on the counter that I had on earlier if you want to change.”
“Do you mind if I stay up a bit?” I asked curiously.
Then, before I could explain why, he was heading away again.
“Knock yourself out,” he muttered.
Then the door to the bedroom slammed, and that was the last thing I heard the rest of the night.
With nothing else left to do, I started texting my mother.
I hadn’t heard from her in the last couple of hours, and that was odd for us.
She answered immediately.
Turner: I met a guy.
Mom: Is he ugly?
Turner: Burn. No, but I met one. And he isn’t ugly, but he has no interest in me. Do you think they make a magic love potion that’ll make someone love you?
Mom: No. Sorry. You have to find a person that loves you for you. Like your mother.
I smiled at my mother’s words. She was definitely a no-nonsense kind of woman.
Turner: This one probably will never happen. He thinks I’m a spoiled rich kid.
Mom: You are a spoiled rich kid.
I snickered and tapped out my next reply.
Turner: What time will you be here for Thanksgiving? I don’t know what you want me to make, either.
Mom: Ice.
Turner: I read a meme the other day. It said ‘if they tell you to bring ice, you can’t cook.’
Mom: Still ice.
Turner: Mom! I can cook like the dickens!
Mom: I don’t even know what ‘cook like the dickens’ means, but I don’t want to know. Plus, I can cook better than you. I’ll need you to sample everything, though.
I rolled my eyes.
My mother had just had her gastric bypass a few weeks before at my encouragement and was doing wonderfully. However, the downside of her having the surgery so close to Thanksgiving meant that she couldn’t sample any of her wonderful food.
Then again, I wouldn’t be able to, either.
Turner: Better call Bud in for support.
Mom: Already done, baby. He can’t come for the holiday, but I called him. Now, go to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning.
I smiled at my mom’s words, then texted the words that I always ended our conversations with.
Turner: I love you.
Mom: Love you small. Love you big. Love you like a little pig.Chapter 8Fun parenting game: take a shot every time your child whines.
Disclaimer-Don’t do this. You’ll die.
-Coffee Cup
Turner
The loud blaring of my phone woke me from a dead sleep, and I jolted upright, confused and heart pounding.
