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Ifell asleep on the couch after Max and I pretended not to see Gia in the shadows. I wanted to stay on alert, to make sure she made it back to bed. I listen to her tiptoe back inside, her tiny steps walking toward me. I keep my breathing even as I sense her stand above me.
Her fingers lightly move the hair from my eyes, with a slight tremble to them as she stares at me. What is she looking for? She takes a step back, and I can feel her retreating.
The sun seeping into the windows wakes me and is another reminder I’m still living on a pig farm.
The smell of bacon instantly wafts around me, and I sit up. Gia is in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for what looks like an army.
“I’m shocked it took you this long to wake up.” She smiles at me, placing scrambled eggs into a dish, then placing them in the oven.
I’m shocked too. I rarely sleep, but from the time I went to bed to now has only been about three or four hours.
Max uses this as his moment to make an appearance. He goes and gives Gia a sideways hug. I wait for her to push him off, and she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs a piece of bacon and gives him a pregame taste.
“I wouldn’t let Max touch anything with his bare hands if I were you.”
The asshole chuckles, stealing another piece.
“What do you call a BJ in the ocean?” I ask, standing up to take a seat on the stool across from Gia. I do nothing to hide the raging morning wood I’m sporting in my boxers.
“Put some clothes on, dude,” my brother scolds while staying almost glued to Gia. He’s doing it on purpose to piss me off.
“Head underwater.”
“He really does lack attention from the opposite sex, huh?” Gia ignores me, talking to Max.
“You’re a feisty heathen. It’s not his fault. You have him pussy whipped.” My brother plays along.
I choke on my saliva. Pussy whipped? Fuck no.
“Don’t buy that shit, Gia. Before the accident, I would tell a joke like that, then you would beg to be dragged to a dark corner to use my cock.”
I like the way her eyes dart downward before a soft blush creeps into her cheeks. She turns around, grabbing three plates, and puts food on them.
“Since when did you two become friends?” I murmur, grabbing my plate. Irritation creeps down on me like spiders.
I eat my food, pretending that I’m not paying them any mind, but she stays in my vision at all times.
“Since I decided I like him better than you.” She tries to hide her smirk, but it slips out.
So, she likes to get under my skin? The feeling is mutual.
“You better eat up, ’cause you’re helping me with chores after.”
Her eyes go wide. “I can hardly walk,” she protests. My eyes alight with a cock joke, but she interrupts me before I can say it. “Do not make some cock joke.”
Because I feel bad for her, I’ll let her off the hook and not tell her my hilarious joke. “I’ve been telling you to rest, and you refuse to. I keep finding you in my kitchen. As much as I would love to make some sexist joke here, I could use your help more outside.”
“Makes sense,” she concedes too fast. I angle my head to look her in the eye. “You can make me dinner tonight when I’m resting on the couch.”
I shake my head, refusing to comment.
“Why pig farming?”Gia, I’ve learned, never shuts up. She still hasn’t taken a breath since talking at breakfast. She happily skips—in her bruised-up version—behind me.
“People like pork,” I grunt out. “You practically swallowed your bacon whole.”
Her steps falter. We don’t eat the pigs on this farm, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sell them for others to eat.
“I guess I just never thought about it.” A soft frown puckers her otherwise smooth forehead. “Am I a vegetarian? Is that why you were hiding your smirk throughout breakfast?” she asks in horror.
