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And a cat.
“Hey, Fluff.” Brylee makes meowy noises, but the cat slinks backward and vanishes into another room—or a different dimension, for all I know. “Aww, she needs time to get used to you.”
She makes it sound like it will happen. That I’ll visit here often enough that her cat with the bumhole jewel will get used to me and come rub herself on me.
Brylee tugs me to the couch. “Sit. I’ll make you something to eat.”
I obey, my knees not too steady, and watch her go, dazed. I rub at my eyes. They burn. Letting my head drop back, I gaze at the ceiling without seeing it.
What a fucked-up day.
I need to tell Jet about Mom’s new overdose. The last few times I kept it from him, but he has a right to know, even if he can’t help me.
Nobody can.
Brylee comes back with a steaming mug, a muffin and a toasted sandwich. It’s grilled cheese, and my stomach gives a loud growl at the smell. Sheepishly, I thank her and then inhale everything.
The muffin is a bit crunchy, but I barely notice.
“You were hungry,” she observes.
No shit, Sherlock.
“What was wrong with your mom? Is she going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully.
“Why?”
“My dad drinks, my mom self-medicates. He shouts a lot. She goes into hysterics and swallows every pill in the house. So she overdosed. Again.”
There it is, the painful truth, laid out before her. I expect the telltale flinch that will confirm she’s horrified she asked, that she’d rather take her question back. Probably travel back in time and leave me in that parking lot of the hospital without a word.
But she holds my gaze and grabs my hand to give it a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry. I hope she comes through.”
I put my mug down on the coffee table. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask quietly.
She shrugs, toys with a loose thread in her sweater, her hazel eyes looking anywhere but at me. “I told you. I like you.”
“You like me. Like you like your friend Candy and your cat?”
There it is, that delicate blush that seems to bypass my conscious brain and shoot straight to my dick. She whispers, “Not like that.”
I take her hand, lift it to my lips. “I don’t like you that way, either, Princess.”
Her hand twitches in my hold. “Rid…”
“Anything you want. You just have to say what it is.”
“I don’t… It’s not…”
Sweet. She’s the sweetest fairytale princess. She dresses up to cheer sick children up. She held me when I fell apart. Brought me to her home.
Sweet and hot. A deadly combo.
Too much for my fraying control.
I let her hand go in order to cup her face and lean in to kiss her.
