Page 35 of Heavy
“Teal. But more on the blue side than green.”
“So, turquoise.”
“No, teal.”
His brows pinch before he refocuses on the road completely. “Is Eamon your only sibling?”
“Yes. Do you have any siblings?” he fires back quickly.
I don’t need a fast conversation, just one to keep me from focusing on what put me into my panic attack in the first place. But I guess I’ll take this over silence.
“Just my stepbrother.” I pause, half-expecting him to ask a question that’s clearly on his mind, but he stays silent. So I press on. “Do you like animals?”
“Birds and dogs, yes.”
“Would you get one?”
His light laugh makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight—yikes, that was cute. I’m so much better now, but damn, I also feel more like a piece of shit than ever before.
“I’ll never get a pet, if that’s your question.”
I frown. “Why?”
He wets his bottom lip before sighing. “Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, and getting attached to anything—oranyone—is the last thing I’m looking to do.”
A heavy weight presses down on my heart.
“Parole is for those deemed worthy of help. Those who aren’t offered that gift are just expected to screw up and end up right back in.”
“You don’t…” I pause, realizing I’m about to make the same mistake my mother did, suggesting there’s another way. That he can get help to avoid going back. But that wouldn’t be right, he said it himself: some things don’t need fixing. “That makes sense.”
Maybe it’s the fact that he included “anyone” in that statement that makes me want to press further. As usual, it’s a selfish instinct.
“How long do you think the renovations will take?” I’m glad he steers the conversation in a different direction. He has slightly relaxed with the shift, and now one of his arms rests against the center console, his hand dangling down near the cupholders.
“Likely close to two months. I’ll save the master bedroom for last, it just needs new paint and better furniture.”
I watch as he lifts his left leg, and my gaze instinctively drags to his lap. It’s almost illegal how good he looks, and my earlier comment about the Goodwill clothes feels like it’s biting me in the ass. He wears those dark blue jeans like they were tailor-made for him, and I can’t help but notice the outline of something I definitely shouldn’t be desiring.
“The mattress is shit, make sure that it’s changed.” He looks in my direction as he changes lanes, catching me peeking where I shouldn’t be. “Queen or bigger.”
Jerking my head away, I look out the window and push against the door. “As you wish,Daddy.” I say it more condescending than I do when he has forced me to do so.
“Don’t!” His sharp, singular word, has me jumping. When he grips my chin and tears my gaze to him, I watch as he hesitates to look away from the road. After a second, he finds my eyes and stares straight into my soul. “Watch yourself, baby girl, that little attitude of yours will get you punished.”
I nod, not even needing him to ask if I understand.
He releases me, and I breathe out a heavy sigh. Big Bertha, here I come.
Ronan
The following morning, I wake up to the sound of contractors bustling around the house. I can’t help but wonder if my question about the timeline prompted her to bring in extra workers to speed things up. It’s hard to believe she’d do that, she doesn’t seem particularly eager to leave.
I wish I could say I am, butdamnher for keeping me from thinking logically.
Do I have the desire to fuck that slice of innocence? I sure do, and at this point, I’d just do it to satisfy myself. Every damn night I have a hard-on because she refuses to wear anything but short-shorts and a tank top. She’s testing me, I just fucking know she is.
Last night, catching her looking at my cock covered by my jeans had me nearly incapable of not pulling the car over, pulling it out, and shoving it down her throat. Then she called me daddy,fucking Christ, the filthy thoughts that went through my head.
