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I'd much prefer to have this conversation when she isn't still covered in my cum but fuck it. Whether John and I talk now or later won't change anything. She's mine. Period. If he wanted me to keep my hands off her, he should have taken better care of her when he had the chance.
I disarm the alarm and then unlatch both deadbolts before pulling the door open. It's drizzling outside, the rising sun hiding behind wispy gray clouds. John's face looks more likely to deliver a storm than they do. His jaw is set, his blue eyes glittering with outrage.
"I told you to keep your fucking hands to yourself," he growls.
"Good morning to you too," I mutter, throwing the door open wide to let him in.
He scowls at me, his brows pulling down into a deep furrow. Unlike when his niece glowers, he doesn't look adorable. John is one tough son of a bitch. Former military intelligence. He runs a consulting firm now, does a lot of classified type shit for the government. He's in his late fifties, but that hasn't slowed him down any. He's been good for my mom.
She glows with him in a way she never did with my dad. She's happy in a way she never was with him. I wrote that bastard out of my life a long time ago and wasn't sorry to do it. He didn't deserve my mom. John does. I don't want his feelings about me and Charlotte causing problems between him and my mom.
"Where's Ma?"
"Vancouver," he growls, wheeling around to face me. "I don't want her in the middle of this. She told me to tell you that she misses you."
"I miss her too," I murmur, closing the door before turning to face him. He's standing in the same spot, his feet planted, arms crossed over his chest. He's an imposing son of a bitch for his age, but he's not going to intimidate me in my own house. I leanback against the door, jerking my chin in a nod. "Go ahead and say whatever it is you came to say."
"You're fucking my niece," he states. "You've got her splashed all over the fucking news, looking like–"
"Don't," I snap, throwing a hand up before he says some shit he can't take back. "You want to insult me, fine. Say whatever the fuck you want. But you insult Charlotte, we're going to be breaking her heart and my mom's because I will absolutely break your jaw."
"Looking like she's in love," he finishes, one brow rising.
I grunt, mollified.
"No one insults my niece, least of all me," he says and then blows out an irritated breath, pinning me with another hard glare. "She's too goddamn young for this shit, Theo. She's nineteen. You've got women falling all over themselves to get to you. Fuck around with one of them and leave her out of it before you break her heart."
"You're starting to piss me off," I say.
"You're pissed?" He barks laughter. "I found out from the Canadian paparazzi that you're fucking my niece after I distinctly remember telling you to keep your goddamn hands to yourself."
"I tried to call you yesterday," I mutter because he's got me there. It's a messed-up way to find out about anything, especially something like this. "Had I known there was a photographer out there, that shit wouldn't be all over the internet now."
"She was crying." He bristles like a pissed off bear. If I ever needed proof that he loves his niece, this is it. He flew all the way here from Vancouver, not because he thinks we're fucking, but because he thinks I made her cry. That's the kind of loyalty she deserves in her life.
"She was," I say, and then scrub a hand down my face. "Can we hash this shit out in the kitchen while I make coffee?"
"If you say you didn't sleep last night, I'm going to be breaking my promise to your mama," he warns me.
I grunt in response and then head toward the kitchen. I didn't sleep last night, and for exactly the reason he thinks. Am I stupid enough to tell him that? Hell no. I may not be afraid of him, but I know damn well it'd break Charlotte's heart and my mom's if this comes to blows between us.
"Motherfucker," he swears when I pass by him.
Shit. I've got Charlotte's scratch marks all up and down my back.
"Hear me out, and then you can decide if you want to hit me," I say, shaking my head. This is not the morning I had planned. I'd much rather be upstairs, eating Charlotte. She's a hell of a lot cuddlier than this big bastard.
He mutters a string of curses beneath his breath, following me into the kitchen. I start the coffee pot and then lean back against the counter. The kitchen is wrecked. Dirty dishes are piled up in the sink and food particles cling to the stove and table. I cooked for her last night, but we never got around to cleaning up. She wanted to do it before I carried her back to bed, but I distracted her. She's cleaned up after me for long enough.
"Did you know her landlord has been causing her problems?" I ask, watching John's face carefully. How he responds decides how the rest of this conversation goes. Because if he knew about the son of a bitch and left her there, I'll be breaking his promise to my mom. And I won't be sorry about it. She'd expect nothing less.
His eyes widen, letting me know he didn't know. "What kind of problems?"
"She caught her apartment on fire," I say, quickly filling him in on the details while the coffee percolates. By the time I'm done, his face is red with rage and he's pacing like a caged lion. "I've got someone at the police department looking into him."
"Won't be a need if I bury him under six feet of concrete," he mutters, stomping around so hard he rattles the saltshaker on the table. "He stole her fucking panties?"
"Looks like it."
