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He gives me a luminous, boyish grin that turns my heart over as much as his next words: “And I’ll do my best to keep you smiling.”
Chapter Fifteen
Merc
Cos still looks worried after our talk, and I feel weirdly reluctant to fuck when she thinks it may be her sister I want, despite my reassurances. So I end up throwing on an old pair of sweats and hauling her to the kitchen to cook us some dinner.
Every word I told her was true. I have no reason to lie, and besides… she makes me want more. More than just sex. More than just a few evenings in the week. I can’t stop thinking about her. Missing her.
It’s the weirdest fucking thing.
I glance at her where she’s sitting on the table this time, the cat on her T-shirt stretched over her pretty, round tits. She’s swinging her feet, like a pixie fairy, in that short skirt I like, all curves, dark curious eyes and those lips… I want them wrapped around my dick.
Can’t stop thinking of sex for five fucking minutes, Merc? Come on.
But something’s off, something missing. I stop in the process of gathering the ingredients for my own version of Chicken Vesuvio and listen.
So quiet. Too quiet.
Hurrying to my bedroom, I return with my Bluetooth speakers and my phone. I place them on the kitchen counter and start my music. “Deliver Us” by In Flames is playing, and my shoulders relax.
All set.
I wash the chicken and veggies, toss them in olive oil and garlic, and throw them in the pan, to get them crisp and golden. I pour in some white wine, then lift the bottle and take a swig.
Not bad, even if I’m more into beer and scotch. We never had fancy wines at home growing up, and I never grew to like them.
“Wine?” I turn to Cos who’s frowning at nothing—or is it at me?—as if trying to figure out something. “I can get you a glass.”
“No, that’s fine.” She grins and takes the bottle for me. Takes a swig. Swallows. Licks her lips with her little pink tongue. “Mmm.”
Oh fuck. I swallow a groan. That was a bad idea. If she keeps doing that, I’ll probably fucking burn the food.
Speaking of which… shit. I rush to take the food off the hot plate and grab a pan to empty it in. Then I shove the pan into the oven to finish cooking.
Dinner saved.
I hope.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks as I close the oven door.
I adjust my hard-on through my sweats and turn toward her. Her gaze dips to the tent between my legs, but hey, what’s a guy to do? Girl’s hot.
I wink at her, and that cute flush spreads on her cheeks again. “Shoot.”
“What?”
“Ask away.” I spread my arms wide. “No secrets.”
Right? I feel kinda guilty after the words are out, but bad dreams aren’t really a secret, are they? Just background noise.
She puts down the wine bottle beside her on the table. “Okay. Why the constant music?”
I blink. Not the question I expected—though what the hell I expected… “It’s not constant.”
“Well…”
The music rises to a crescendo, the bass beat vibrating.
