Although startled by my unexpected arrival, Jenni’s cheeks flame with need instead of annoyance. “Good morning.” Her eyes return to my face after taking their time absorbing my naked torso.
I give her a playful wink. “Morning.”
With Christian’s eyes locked on us, I give Jenni a slow and possessive kiss, assuring he knows without a doubt that she's off the market. When I pull back from our embrace, I instruct Jenni to put on some pants. I’m not being an alpha male jerk; I just don’t want Christian getting any more sneak peeks at a backside and stellar pair of legs that solely belong to me.
Jenni rolls her eyes before doing as instructed. The instant she's out of earshot, my eyes drift to Christian. I’m about to speak, but he beats me to the task, “I didn’t touch her because I knew she deserved better than a player.”
He stands taller, his eyes narrowing as he glares down at me. He has maybe two or three inches on me in height, but his build is similar to mine, although it's hard to say exactly how similar since he’s wearing black jogging shorts and a sweat-soaked gym shirt.
“You didn’t touch her because she wouldn’t let you touch her.” My tone is confident, as is my killer glare. I saw the way Jenni’s cheeks flushed when I walked into the kitchen. Her body doesn’t react to Christian like it does me, making me confident she’ll never run into his arms like she did mine Friday night.
“If you fuck her over, I’ll hunt you down.” Christian’s voice is only a whisper, but his threatening snarl can’t be missed.
I smirk a smug grin.What’s another name on a very long list?
I’m set to retaliate, but the patter of Jenni’s bare feet becomes noticeable in the silence of our standoff. When she enters the kitchen, she places herself between us, her nervous eyes exposing her suspicions. “Is everything okay?”
Christian breaks our intense stare-off first. He turns toward Jenni and winks before pressing a kiss to the edge of her mouth. When Jenni’s fretful eyes snap to mine, I smile at her. I’m not the least bit worried. She doesn’t have an ounce of pinkness on her skin.
When Christian leaves, Jenni and I enjoy the chocolate chip pancakes she prepared for us in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable or tense; it just enhances the sexual connection zapping between us. Every time she notices me watching her, she smiles, then her neck gets a pink hue. That makes me watch her even more intently.
My attentiveness gets rewarded in the most brilliant way. I’ll never eat pancakes again without getting a hard on, because syrup has never tasted as good as it did until I licked it off Jenni’s skin.
* * *
Our routine continues on the same path for the next couple of months. I travel to Jenni as often as my bank balance will allow, and she comes home any time she has more than a two-day break in her school schedule. Our relationship has been so good, it’s almost surreal.
This morning, Jenni is flying home for spring break. I’m dying to see her. I plan to spend every waking moment I'm not in the studio with her.
My steps into the kitchen are extra springy, anticipation lightening them. When I head to the coffee pot to fill a mug with steaming brew, my dad peers up from his newspaper to eye me curiously. I flash him a quick smirk en route to the fridge to add a dash of milk to my coffee.
Scorching hot liquid dribbles down my hand when a pair of arms unexpectedly sling around my waist. I pivot around to face the person embracing me from behind, hopeful Jenni caught an earlier flight. A knot twists in my stomach when a pair of hazel eyes peer up at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Nicholas!” my dad scolds, shocked by my rude tone.
I glare at him, blinking and confused.Does he not know what is going on here?This isn’t normal. Far from it.
My focus returns to Megan when she slaps my chest. “You’re so funny.”
I take a stumbling step backward. “Who let you in?”
Finally realizing the dangerous situation we’re in, my dad stands from his seat.
When Megan fails to answer my first question, I ask another, “How did you get into my house?”
“You invited me here, silly.” Her tone is extra chipper—somewhat manic.
When I take another step back, my eyes absorb the entire picture. It isn’t pretty. Megan is wearing the shirt I left discarded on the bathroom floor last night after I took a shower.
No longer capable of holding back my anger, I grab ahold of her arm and drag her to my room. Upon entering, I notice a dress, handbag, and a pair of open-toed shoes resting on my desk. My chest thrusts up and down when I gather her items in my other hand before hotfooting it to the front of my house. My steps are hurried and shaky, my fury uncontrolled.
“You said you loved me; you told me you wanted to have a baby with me,” Megan cries when I deposit her and her clothing on my paint-peeled front porch.
When she mentions the baby, my eyes dart down to her stomach, which is noticeably flat. That’s not surprising. She should have given birth a month or two ago.
I wonder who watches her baby while she breaks into strangers’ homes?
Upon noticing my glance at her stomach, Megan places her hand over a non-existent bump. “Don’t worry, darling, Daddy is just joking.” My fearful eyes rocket to hers faster than a nanosecond. She rolls her shoulders, happy she’s gained my attention. “Do you think we will have a boy or a girl?”
