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Bad blood. If we can clear the air, I’d like to try, Chris. I’m worried we got off on the wrong foot. You had a right to be upset.
Wrong foot? I snort.
More like wrong boner.
I keep reading as another message appears.
Also, Evie and Dad left for the weekend. They took the boat down to San Diego.
Meaning I’ll be alone with her in that huge house then.
Fuck, is she serious or just yanking my dick?
She wants to have a heart-to-heart with nobody else around?
I inhale so sharply my lungs burn.
Delia Burr is either sinfully naive or far more batshit crazy than I guessed.
It takes a few seconds to ignore the fire throbbing in my balls to type back.
I’ll think about it. I decided to come back there tonight, but after the day I’ve had, I may just crash,I lie.Don’t wait up for me.
With a devilish smile, I add,I don’t need to hear you rubbing one out, either. If your vibrator keeps me awake tonight through that wall, we will have problems.
I smile, watching the dots spin, stop, and spin again as she struggles to type.
Nothing ever comes back.
At least that shuts her up and gives me time to screw my head on, never mind the hard-on I’m now sporting that Laura-Layna could never pull out of me.
I’m disappointed she’s still waiting for me at the table, wet and drunk as ever.
I walk up behind her and clear my throat.
She turns, smiling up at me with her thick glossy lips, casting the same look I know she’d have before straining to take every inch of me down her throat.
“I need to run. Something came up. Family business,” I lie.
“Oh, no! You’re serious?” Her smile vanishes. She leaps up and grabs my arm, and I hear her breath catch. “...did I do something wrong? Don’t tell me it was the spill.”
I push her away gently and start walking, only stopping to look back over my shoulder and say, “Duty is one demanding bitch in my line of work. Sorry. I’ll pick up the tab.”
Trying to let her down easy doesn’t do much to sweep away that scolded look in her eye.
I take care of the bill like the anti-gentleman I am on the way out, grateful she’s too tipsy to come begging for my number.
On the drive over to home, unsweet home, I pound my fist on the wheel, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
Did I just give up guaranteed easy pussy for a teary-eyed talk with my prissy little stepsister?
I sigh, wondering if this cartel threat is digging deeper into my head than I feared.
At the gate, Jeeves gives me the same shitty sneer he wore the first time he saw me. I glare back until he punches the button to open up, then floor it up the long, hilly driveway.
Hell, even the entrance feels just as pretentious and alien as it was the first time.
Soon, I’m inside, standing under the big glass chandelier that looks like it was designed by Dale Chihuly himself when I text her.
