“Stop protecting me, Dair.”
“Ye ask the impossible, Blake.”
Man, I needed to suck his dick.
He was a mouthful, but he had a very delicious dick.
I’d do that later.
For the now, I resumed jogging up the stairs.
I heard Dair heave another sigh before I heard him follow me, and when I made the first floor, I went on instinct, and yes (yuck!), you guessed it.
There was a television sounding from the room that had an adjoining door to Mum’s.
I’d learned ages ago this was because, back in the day, it wasn’t done for couples to sleep together. So the woman got the bedroom (the only boon she got back then), and the man was relegated to sleep in his dressing room and only attend her when they had business to see to.
Oh, and this likely gave him ample opportunity not to get caught coming and going on his bent to gamble away the fortune or meet one of his mistresses.
The television noises were coming from that room.
Everyone else was downstairs, chatting, or in Nora’s case, on the phone bossing people around (kindly) while making funeral arrangements.
I knocked hard on the door and didn’t wait for a call to come in.
I opened it and took two steps in.
I felt Dair come in behind me.
And we both watched Jeff scramble off the bed wearing nothing but a pair of long shorts.
“Enjoying a break?” I asked.
“Um…” he didn’t answer.
“As you know, we’ve had several people join us today,” I pointed out. “We have four more arriving tomorrow. Three at the weekend. With possibly six more coming. A funeral is being organized. I’m aware that Christine has hired another maid she trusts from the village, but there’s work to be done. Can you explain why you’re in your room, watching TV?”
“Well—”
“Did my mother pay you?” I asked.
His gaze pinged back and forth between Dair and me before it settled on me. “Yes.”
“Are you up to date with your pay packet?” I went on.
A flush crept up his neck and he pushed out, “Yes.”
“So, I’ll repeat, can you explain why you’re watching TV when there are things to be done?”
He moved to a chair, and it was then I noted he did, indeed, live here.
The place was a mess of clothes, athletic shoes, spent cans of beer, dirty plates that needed to be taken to the kitchen (some of them needed that two weeks ago), and various personal items, like trophies and electronics.
Oh, and it smelled like boy.
He pulled on a T-shirt and turned to me.
“With Helena, I had a—” he started.
