Because I don’t know if your sister knows about your more political pastimes.
“Does she know?” Tessa asks, the teasing tone falling away.
Tristan nods, and Tessa turns back to me.
So, I nod too. “Yeah, that’s kind of our meet cute.”
“Aw, look at you two.” Tessa grins. “And you’re okay with it? I mean, don’t you know those people?”
I probably should be more affected by Tristan’s hobby—he’s slaughtered one of my coworkers plus others whose hands I’ve shaken, who I made small talk with at fundraisers. But I understandwhyhe does it. It’s not spite. It’s not because he disagrees with their political platforms—its because they’re dangerous and powerful and will put innocent lives in jeopardy for a few more dollars to pad their designer wallets.
Not all rich people are bad. Not all people in politics are evil. But the ones on his kill list… they’re rotten to their core.
I shrug. “I knew them, yeah. But I’m far away from politics now. In fact, I’m working on building up my social media accounts.”
“She’s great at it.” Tristan winks at me, and the blood from my cheeks plummets down between my thighs. When is his family leaving so I can jump his bone again?
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Are you busy on Tuesday, Daph?” Tessa beams. “I always treat myself to a self-care day on Tuesdays. We could grab lunch and get a manicure. My nails need some work.” She checks her hands. I don’t know what’s so bad about them, but Tessa winces like they pain her to look at them.
“Yeah, I’d love that,” Daphne smiles. “I haven’t had my nails done properly in months. I usually get cheap press-ons.”
What are press-ons? And how much are manicures?
While they make plans to meet up and spend an afternoon shopping with Tessa’s friend, I open my bank account app and send her another five grand.
I hear Tessa suggest a bookstore and double it to ten grand.
“Sorry guys,” Tuck says as he reenters the dining room. “I’ve got to go.”
“There’s more to life than work,” I point out.
“Tell that to the parents of a kid who was hit by a car. His foot was crushed under a tire. The surgeon will be lucky if he can save it without amputating.”
Yikes!
“Sorry,” Tuck grumbles. “Work’s been rough the last few weeks. We’re understaffed, and I’ve been pulling mostly twenty-four-hour shifts. I promise I’ll be better company next time.”
“If this is you as bad company, I don’t mind,” Daphne says as he hinges at the waist to hug her from her chair. “Next time, you can tell me more humiliating Tristan stories.”
Tessa cackles again. “Oh, we’ve got a boatload of them.”
“Or a butt load, as Tristan used to say.” Tuck winks at Daphne, and I want to smack him so hard his eyeball pops out of its socket.
“I’m going to follow you out,” Tessa says as her chair scrapes along the hardwood floor. “We’ll leave these two alone for the night.”
Tessa and Tuck hug and say their goodbyes. As I shut the front door and lock it, Daphne’s still giggling.
“So,” she says. “What are we going to do with a butt load of leftovers?”
“Careful, Princess.” I drop my voice to that tone that hasher freezing in place. “I’ll give you a butt load of something better than leftovers if you?—”
Daphne cracks up. “Can we please stop talking about butt loads? It’s so not sexy.”
I crook my finger, encouraging her to come closer. When she does, I scoop her up until her ankles lock around the small of my back, those thick thighs clinging around my waist. “How’s this?” I whisper in her ear, and she shivers in my arms in anticipation. “I’m going to stretch out that perfect ass of yours until it can take me, then I’m going to fill you up over and over again until you’re screaming my name.”
“Yes, please,” Daphne pants.
I dash up the stairs, two at a time, to our bedroom.
