AllFreeNovel
Share Us
TWENTY
Jarra
The little boy grins up at me, his dirty blond hair falling into his face as he pulls off his beanie and tosses it onto the marble floor of my spotlessly clean apartment. “Can we have ice cream now?”
“I thought you needed to use the bathroom?”
He shrugs. “Nope.”
“W-w... I...”
I shake my head and check my phone for the hundredth time since he launched himself at me as I was trying to hand a pamphlet to an old lady walking her dog. The dog was busy barking at me and the lady was giving me side eye and trying to escape, right up until Damian greeted me so enthusiastically. Then she was happy enough to talk to me.
Of course, I looked around, expecting to see Mel, even hoping she’d changed her mind about running off and had come to hang out with me.
I must be crazy, wishing my dominatrix escort would come help with my election campaign, but the truth is all I can think about these days is seeing her. All the time. It feels like hell waiting until the election is over to tell her how I’m really feeling.
“Well...” I scratch the base of my horns. “I can’t get in touch with your mom yet, so I guess we can have some ice cream. But don’t tell her, OK? It’s our little secret.”
Damian squeals and rushes to the kitchen without needing to be shown where the freezer is. I hope there’s still some ice cream in there. My housekeeper usually keeps the place well stocked, but I haven’t paid much attention recently. I haven’t had time.
I park Damian in front of the television with his ice cream.
Why does it feel so much scarier looking after him when she’s not around? What if I do the wrong thing? I manage to keep my cool for approximately ten minutes until I finally get a message back from Mel.
Mel: B there soon. Thank you so much for keeping him safe and I’m sorry. We’ll get out of your hair quickly, I promise.
I want to write back and tell her she’s welcome to stay, but she won’t listen. I have a better chance of convincing her with both kids to back me up, and I’m not above using any and all forms of manipulation.
When the buzzer goes, I dash to the security system to let her up and wait with a huge damn grin spread across my face for the elevator to arrive. I immediately feel bad when I see how stressed she looks as the doors open. She’s clutching Elsa’s hand tight and her hair, swept up into a messy bun beneath a green headband, is coming loose, trailing enticing strands over her ears and onto her cheeks.
I want to brush it back. I want any excuse to touch her, but I don’t know how she’ll feel about that in front of the kids.
“He’s fine,” I tell her quickly. “He’s in the living room watching TV. Are you OK?”
She gives me a tight nod. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Her head is up and her lip doesn’t even wobble, but I know a female who is blatantly not fine when I see one.
Is there something else going on here?
