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I’ve been looking forward to my time with Saint all week. I’ve been studying my ass off for final exams. That and trying not to have a panic attack every time the kids look longingly at holiday displays for the latest tech they know I can’t afford to give them. Meg was practically giddy this morning when she asked if I was going out with Saint tonight. When I pressed, she told me he texted to ask about giving her his old phone.
Sure enough, I look up from ditching my outerwear to see my stress relief dangling a gift bag from the Apple store in front of me. I’m going to kill Saint, and the bemused yet apologetic expression on his face tells me he knows exactly how I feel about him manipulating me into taking expensive gifts.
“You really fucking suck sometimes, Mathieu.” I first-name him, because I don’t appreciate him popping the illusion that I can have this time to lay down my burdens. Just a few hours where I can be an adult who gets to enjoy myself with another adult.
He keeps holding up the bag, a flicker of concern crossing his eyes as he wiggles it enticingly. I reluctantly snatch it from him. There’s no good way to tell him no, but accepting expensive gifts from a lover makes my stomach roil.
“I do. I thought you liked that about me?” he teases with a lazy jerking off motion when I turn back to face him, arms crossed protectively over my chest.
“You can’t buy me a new phone every time Trev—Meg loses hers.” Fuck. I expressly did not tell him that Meg’s father is the reason she no longer has her old phone. Trevor told her he didn’t want her texting in her bedroom. When he caught her doing it anyway, he confiscated the phone. He claims disobeying him is proof Meg is too immature to have her own phone.
Nevermind my pleas to return it to her when she is at my place so she can call for rides or in an emergency. Not to mention the fact I pay for it and her phone plan.
It’s ridiculous, because I can kind of understand his reasoning for the rule. I wasn’t that much older than Meg is now when I started dating him. That’s nothing I want to think about. Meg is far savvier than I was. And more interested in dance than boys. Or girls.
Saint sobers immediately. Damnation—it’s entirely unfair how hot he is when he hones that laser-sharp lawyerly authority on me.
“What exactly happened to Meg’s old phone?” Saint stalks a step closer, hand planted on his hip in a pose that emphasizes his gym honed muscles.
“I told you; she lost it.” I can’t meet his gaze and lie, so I stare at those bulging biceps.
“How?”
I set my jaw. “I plead the fifth.”
“The US constitution doesn’t apply in Ontario, Angel.” Saint caresses my cheek, but his tone softens. “And I very much doubt the answer to that question would be self-incrimination.”
We’re at an impasse and my time is ticking. Saint might have other hookups, but this is all the me-time I can afford to allot myself beyond the occasional extra long shower if I get up early enough. Less than two hours a week that are all mine to indulge with this man. I’m not wasting them over something stupid. I sigh.
“Trevor took it and refuses to return it.”
“For the love of…” Saint makes an outraged sound of frustration and I watch the conflicting emotions play across his face. I know he’s not angry at me, but it still makes me uncomfortable to see him mad. “Let me get this straight. You bought the phone for her?”
“Yeah. Still paying it off.”
Saint’s jaw ticks. “And you requested it back?”
“Of course.”
“And he refused? So he kept possession of your property while continuing to renege on his court-ordered financial obligations?”
“That pretty much sums it up.” I shrug. I just want this conversation to be over. So we can get to the part where he rails me until I don’t have room for anything in my brain but how good he makes me feel.
“Angel. For the love of fuck, let me at least file a motion to get your kids their money from him.”
Goddamn fucking lawyer, knowing just how to word things to twist the knife and make me consider accepting his charity.
“That’s playing dirty, Saint.”
“I know. And I’m sorry, but you are working yourself to the bone and I want to help you. Let me help?”
“I can’t. It will be fine. I’m almost done with school, and then things will get better. Just have to pass my finals, and then I can start my practicum.”
“Student teaching? As in adding working ridiculous hours for even more ridiculous pay on top of everything else you’re already doing? Angel, that’s—” He shakes his head, thinking better of whatever insult was on the tip of his tongue at my glare “—Let me help you. I can go after back child support for you.”
“No. It’s not worth going after Trevor, and I can’t afford to pay you.”
Saint shakes his head at me. “You want my legal opinion on that?”
