I grin.
“There’s a steak burger that has some rave reviews. Oh, look at this frozen java thing. Want to stop there after work?”
“Ask me again in an hour when my shift is over, but I’m going to guess no. I’m dead on my feet when I’m done with this crap, which is hilarious since I’m on my damn knees. This isnothow I like to be on my knees.”
Cash giggles. “Oh, speaking of knees… I, uh… I need some pointers.”
I glance at Cash to find him adorably beet red. “On what?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even and innocent.
He glares at me. His eyes flicker around to make sure we’re alone before he answers. “Sucking dick, Lie,” he hisses.
“Have you had complaints?”
Cash shakes his head. “No, but I don’t think he’d complain even if I was doing it really fucking wrong. But I know how good it feels when he sucks me, and I’m not convinced I’m making him feel as good.”
“I find that a lot of guys tend to suck others in ways they like to be sucked. With the mentality of ‘this feels really good for me, so I bet he’ll like it,’ so unless specifically told otherwise, I’m guessing Onyx is already showing you what he likes.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Oh, yeah?”
Grinning, I nod. “Settle in, buttercup. I’ll give you a play-by-play of sucking dick, although I should point out that if you listened to a few dirty romances, you’d find some pointers there, too.”
“Noted. Start talking.”
I’m so tired and sunburned and maybe a little dehydrated despite all the water I drank today that I feel barely awake when I step into my house. I stop in the bathroom on the way by and flip the water on.
I strip out of my clothes in my bedroom and wrap my robe around me. Back in the shower, I spend what feels like days trying to scrub the dirt from all the nooks and crannies of my skin. Frustrated tears sting my eyes. I hate this job. I hate flowers and dirt and mud!
There’s no way I’m going to spend every freakin’ evening in the shower trying to scrub dirt from my nails. This is a miserable existence. Not going to happen. I’m sorry, universe, but there’s one more job Elijah Cain will not do forever. Or even for a week at this rate.
I feel so drained when I step out of the shower. Maybe there’s such a thing as too much fresh air. That’s probably my problem. Fresh air syndrome.
With my robe over my shoulder since I let it touch dirty skin, I’m wrapped in a towel as I head back to my bedroom to find clean clothes. I feel like I’m moving through a vortex. Maybe I’ll take a nap. I think I can convince Laiken to hold me while I nap against his furry chest and beating heart. Yep. That’s what I’m going to do.
I look around for my water bottle. Must have left it in the bathroom. I step out of my room into the hall and come face to face with my father. My breath catches as I stare at him. Did he let himself in?
Oh. I went home. To my parents’ house. I was so damn exhausted I was just following my feet.
My father stares at me. I suppose it’s too much to hope for a teary reunion. I’ll take this awkward silence over that, I guess. It is definitely awkward, and it stretches on as neither of us moves. We don’t look away. Is this a battle of wills? Are we waiting for the other person to crack and speak first?
“Elijah,” Mom says, and I shift slightly to look at her over my dad’s shoulder. She’s surprised to see me. Maybe relieved.
Her voice has broken my father’s silence, though. “What’re you doing here?”
“I was just leaving,” I say and move past him into the bathroom to grab my water bottle.
“You’re not leaving until we talk,” Dad says.
“This has been nothing but a one-way conversation for the past few weeks, so you can talk to yourself in the mirror if you like. I’m not listening to the gross things that come from your mouth.” I snag my bottle and head for the front door.
“When did you get so disrespectful? Is that something Laiken taught you?”
I don’t give in to the irritation lighting under my skin as I yank the door open. No response. That’s all he’s getting from me. Dad grabs my wrist as I step out, stopping my retreat.
My breath catches, making my chest tight. I’m not sure whether I’m startled or pissed that he’s physically grabbing me. Hands shaking, I turn to meet his eyes as I twist my wrist from his grip. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.
“The least you can do?—”
I snort and practically jump off the porch and into the grass. “The least I can do is walk away,” I mutter.
