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“Ella says her dad doesn’t.”
Cerys’s eyes widen. “What her father does isn’t your business!”
She’s right. I’ve no idea why I said that. “Fine! I’ll keep away from you both. I just wanted to help.” I continue away from them, muttering expletives under my breath.
Back at the house, I storm around, unable to believe my peaceful family Christmas led to someone practically accusing me of child abduction.Screw this.
Following terse exchanges with my parents and sister who are leaving for work, I grab my car keys and leave the house. If I see Cerys again in the mood I’m in, I’ll say something that will really piss her off. If she’s staying all fucking Christmas, I need to keep the peace. I could choose to be obnoxious enough to make her leave, but I’m ‘too nice’.
I drive to Whitesands Bay and walk along the coastal path, watching the churning, grey sea below, comparing the scene to the crystal blue I left behind in Malibu. Maybe I should’ve stayed and tried to sort things out with Honey. The familiar isn’t so familiar anymore.
Deciding I’m too cold to sit on a nearby bench for long, and that I’m too tired to do much else, I go home. Maybe I’ll head to the pub tonight. Or leave and stay at Dylan’s country place until Christmas Eve. Because I’m not sure I can put up with a week of this before Christmas Day arrives.
When I get home, Ella sits in her prime spot in front of the TV and Cerys is asleep on the sofa. Her pale skin and dark-rimmed eyes betray her hungover state. I did have sympathy for her, but not after the mouthful she gave me earlier.
Looks like siesta time in the house.
I flop onto the useless single bed and stare at the ceiling, playing the conversation last night through my mind. Is that why Cerys is off with me this morning—because she said embarrassing things last night? I smirk to myself. My little sister’s friend fantasised about me. I get less chicks in Team Liam so I’m not as blasé about attention as Jem and Dylan. There’s something cute about someone who knows me elevating me to hero status by .
Then I picture her naked.
I struggle to remove the image and focus back on the pissed off Cerys who annoyed me. This works for about a minute until a different image appears—last night, so close I almost felt her lips on my face. I bet she tastes amazing; she smells incredible. How would her skin feel? An image of Cerys naked in my bed inevitably returns.
This is not good.
I drift to sleep with the fantasies morphing into the kind of dreams that are too real. When I wake up several hours later, my body has already made the decision. If this woman lets me get my hands on her, I won’t be able to say no.
Illicit, exciting, and maybe a mistake. But if Honey can behave like this, so can I.
