Page 341 of Filthy Truth


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“You know, when I spoke with him, he cared, Aoife,” I said gingerly.

That made her sniff her disdain. “He cares about the wrong things. That’s always been his problem.”

Camille and I shared a glance, then Camille teased, “Aoife, is that a hickey I see?”

My lips twitched as Aoife blushed. “No.”

“Yes, it is. And you tried to use concealer. How sweet.”

“Mostly because I knew you’d give me crap for it,” she groused.

“I’m technically giving you crap for the concealer, not the hickey.” She sighed dreamily. “I love it when Brennan leaves love bites on me.”

“I’m going before I vomit in my mouth,” I declared, disappearing with the juice bottle in my hand, leaving those two to cackle like hens in the kitchen.

As I stepped toward the patio, I found Brennan staring onto the pool.

Though Eoghan and I shared a similar history, I found myself gravitating to Brennan at these types of events.

I figured it was because he was a grump 365 days a year and I could respect that level of consistency. In turn, I thought he respected my appreciation of his grouchiness.

Over the last half-year, and with so many of these fucking family events that they celebrated almost every goddamn week, we’d grown closer.

As close as two miseries could grow, at any rate.

“I’d offer you some juice but I don’t know where your mouth’s been.”

He smirked at me. “Exactly where it’s supposed to have been.”

“But did you wash it afterward? That’s the real question.”

He just arched a brow at me.

“Gross. You can’t do that when you have kids,” I pointed out.

His brows arched higher. “Why the hell not?”

“You’re seriously asking me why you can’t walk around with your wife’s pussy juice on your face when there are little people in the vicinity?”

“People have sex after they have kids. Which we’re not having yet, by the way.”

Was it just me or did he sound grumpier about that than usual?

“They have sex, but they clean up too. Clean up, locked doors, and music. Or the sprogs think you’re crying.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience talking.”

“It is. I had Jake and Kat thinking Conor made me cry for weeks after the fact.”

He rolled his eyes. “Conor told me Kat asked him if she can be an O’Donnelly.”

I grinned. “He’s proud.”

“He is.” He grabbed the OJ bottle from my grip and poured it into his mouth from a height. “There, so I don’t offend your sensibilities,” he mocked once he’d swallowed.

I sniffed.

“I’m surprised she didn’t ask to be a Sullivan.”

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