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South
One Week Later
The last week has been crazy.
I’m still settling into the club, but I know I’m not giving the guys my full attention because I’m so focused on Ingrid. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with my brothers. Of course I do. But right now, Ingrid has no one else to lean on regarding her diagnosis. So, I want to ensure I’m there whenever she needs me.
I head to her place most nights to spend quality time with her. We don’t do anything exciting. Mostly, we just sit, eat dinner, and watch television. But being in each other’s company makes us feel so fucking good.
Have we taken our relationship to that next level?
No. I don’t want Ingrid to feel pressure.
I don’t want her to think that’s all I’m after.
Sure, we kiss and cuddle on the sofa, and I may have given her another climax two nights ago with my fingers, but we haven’t had sex. Honestly, I’m not looking for it. I don’t need it. I can wait. I do, however, want her to know she can depend on me.
As I sit on the sofa, my feet up on the coffee table, watching the evening news, Ingrid walks in with our takeout on plates because she is old school.
I smirk as she glances at my feet on the coffee table.
“Get your feet off my damn table!” She chuckles as she shoves them to the side, slides in beside me, and hands me my food.
I do what I do best, wink, then slowly pull my feet from the table with a “Yes, dear.”
She shakes her head. “Youyes, dearme again, and I will feed you to La Fin myself.”
“Have I told you how much I adore how sassy you are?”
She picks up her chopsticks, waving them at me. “Romeo, don’t think you can charm your way with me, sir.”
I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Hey, umm… I wanna say thanks for having me over. I’m glad you can tolerate me.”
Ingrid lets out a small laugh and picks up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks. “You’re easy to tolerate, Rome. Though I’m sure the guys are wondering where you head to most nights?”
“Yeah… it hasn’t come up yet, but I’m sure the question will come soon.”
Her smile falls. “I’m not ready to tell them… not yet.”
Reaching out, I grab her hand. “It’s all good. We will figure out when is the best time to tell them. There’s no pressure from me.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Why are you so good to me? Like honestly? Why?”
The question throws me for a second, and my brows scrunch together. “What sort of question is that? Do you not think you’re worth it? Because trust me, Ingrid. You are.”
“I don’t…” she hesitates, and I see the caution in her.
Before I turn to face her, I place my plate on the coffee table. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She exhales, places her dinner on the table beside mine, and turns, her knees up on the sofa in what looks like a defensive pose to keep herself calm. “I… I know… I mean… fuck. Shit.”
I reach out, grab her hands, and look into her eyes. “Ingrid, it’s just me… talk to me.”
She exhales heavily, her eyes watering as she fights back tears. “No one has made me feel as sexy as you do, but I don’t understand why someone like you would ever want someone like me.”
Furrowing my brows, I scowl. “Someone like you? What does that mean?”
She swallows hard. “I have a mother’s tummy. I have stretch marks. I have wrinkles. And I’m older than you, South. It’s only because I have strawberry-blonde hair that I’m lucky I haven’t turned gray yet, but I do get the occasional gray hair that I pluck out. And to top it off, I’m pretty sure I’m going through menopause for crying out loud. I mean… you’re still so fucking young. You have your entire life ahead of you. Don’t you want kids? A family of your own? I can’t give you that, South. I can’t!” Her tone is frantic, and she’s on the verge of panic.
