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He slides his gaze to Cece. “I thought we weren’t telling anyone?”
“Oops,” she says sheepishly.
“Oops?” he repeats. “Oops?”
“Your sister figured it out,” Cece explains.
Soul turns his attention to Jez, who’s still yelling lyrics like her life depends on it with Apple. “Jez!” he shouts. “What the fuck?”
“And that’s my cue,” I mutter before closing the distance between me and Apple and doing exactly what I intended to do minutes ago. “You’re comin’ with me.”
Tuning out everything and everyone else, I carry her like a sack of potatoes out of the common room.
“Put me down,” she begs as she drunkenly pounds my back. “Ima puke on you.”
She slurs her words, and I ignore her. I don’t slow down until we’re in my room, and the door slides closed behind us. When I finally set her on her feet, she sways. I steady her with my hands on her arms and guide her toward my bed.
Apple flops onto the mattress and then crawls to the middle and curls up in a ball.
“You killed my fun,” she mumbles. “Fun murderer.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, not bothering to hide my chuckle. “I’ll try not to kill your fun again.”
“Do that,” she says, pointing at me dramatically. “You do that… fun killer. You’re a fun killer. Do you have a problem with fun? Because you scowl all the time, and you’re always mad so I think you don’t know how to have fun.” Apple pauses and then, like a flip switching, she sits up and smiles. “Ce’s preggo, Malice. Did you know that?” Her smile flips into a frown. “Don’t murder her fun. Her kid’s allowed to have fun with their toys. Don’t kill that for them. That’s not nice.”
I rock back on my heels and grin. “Exactly how much did you have to drink tonight?”
“I had fun,” she bites out. “I’m allowed to have fun.”
“You are.”
Apple burps, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oops.” She giggles and lowers her arm. “I had a lotta fun.”
“I can see that.”
“You should try it.”
“Drinking?”
“No.” She throws her hands up and sighs dramatically. “Fun, Malice. You should try having fun.”
“I’m not sure you’re up for my brand of fun right now.”
With an offended expression, she taps her chest. “Me? I’m not up for it?”
I smirk. “Apple, I’m about to go shower off this blood,” I begin, tugging at my shirt. “And the entire time I’m gonna be thinking about you since I’m covered in said blood because I killed two men who hurt you.” I tilt my head. “And because I’m going to be thinking about you, I’m also going to be doing my damndest not to tug one out becauseevery single timeI think about you, I get rock fucking hard.”
Her eyes widen comically. “Oh.”
“So, no, I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
She opens and closes her mouth several times and when nothing comes out, I turn on my heel and stride into the bathroom. And the stupidly hopeful part of me leaves the door ajar.
Within seconds, my soiled clothes are in a heap on the floor, and I’m stepping into the large walk-in shower. The hot spray cascades over my head, and crimson water swirls around the drain before slipping through the small grate and disappearing forever.
As I wash my hair, a shadow falls over my feet, and I turn my head only to freeze mid-scrub. Unfortunately, my dick doesn’t do the same. No, he springs to life.
“I like you,” Apple says matter-of-factly.
