“I love you, too,” I told him. “Which is why you can’t have more.”
He mimicked a sad sound effect that he’d picked up from a movie, but allowed me to transfer him back to his perch, and then walked into the cage himself.
“Go to sleep, bud,” I said.
“Go to sleep, bud,” he shot back at me.
I shook my head, shut the cage door, and headed toward the bathroom.
I’d inherited Amos from my paternal grandmother after she passed. He’d spent the first thirty years of his life in a much smaller cage with almost zero environmental stimulation and no one for company but another crotchety old bird (my grandmother), and I wanted him to live out the rest of his days as happy as he could possibly be in captivity.
At first, I’d tried to introduce other birds because the experts said that was best for a parrot’s social and mental well-being, but Amos hated absolutely every creature besides me, so instead, I focused on improving his environment, diet, and physical enrichment. Which meant no more than three pistachios a day, no matter how much he begged.
The sound of his complaints followed me out of the room. This apartment had the same footprint as the shop below it, and my bedroom and en suite branched off the living area. I headed straight to the shower, cranking up the heat in hopes that it would ease some of the ache in my back. As steam started to fill the room, I paused to glance at myself in the mirror, my expression guilty.
Today, I’d sunk to a new low. I’dkisseda client. What was worse, I’d chosen an obnoxious gym bro to swap saliva with. No, wait. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was how much I’denjoyedit.
I grabbed the edge of the sink and bowed my head, trying to calm my racing pulse, desperate to ignore the little throb of unfulfilled longing emanating from my core. My underwear was still slightly damp, slick since Theo dragged me over his cock anddefinitely not before that moment.
Thank fuck Derrick had interrupted us again before things got out of hand. God, what had I been thinking, letting a virtual stranger manhandle me like that?
I hadn’t been thinking, and that was the problem. Even after I’d resolved to be the better person, I kept letting Theo antagonize me into reacting to his childish needling. And then all it had taken was one brush of his fingers for me to launch myself at him.
My face heated with embarrassment. Ugh, he was right. Ihadattacked him. And the bitter truth was that I’d spent the rest of the appointment fighting the urge to kiss him again. In my defense, it was agoodkiss. Hot, bruising, our disdain for each other spicing it with enough heat that I’d felt like my clothes were about to catch fire.
I really needed to take a day off and go find some other, nicer person to hook up with. For the safety of all my future clients, because, clearly, I could no longer be trusted.
The shower spray was nearly scalding when I stepped beneath it, but I couldn’t tell if it was because it was just that hot or because my skin was still so hypersensitive. I had my answer when I brushed my soaped-up loofah over my breasts and my nipples tightened painfully. Giving in, I closed my eyes and dropped my hand between my legs, the first roll of my fingers over my clit shooting stars across the inside of my lids. I came less than a minute later, definitelynotimagining Theo’s thick fingers inside me instead.
Afterward, I toweled off and did my skin care routine in record time, resolving to never think of Theo again. Or at least not until Ihadto when he came in for his next appointment, scheduled for a week from now.
I dressed in sweats and a ratty old band tee and quietly padded back into the kitchen.
“’Stash?” Amos sleepily called from his cage.
“No, bud. Go to sleep.”
He grumbled under his breath, half words, half grouchy noises, while I looked for a bedtime snack for myself. I’d eaten dinner a few hours ago, but I always went to sleep with at leastsomethingin my stomach to help settle it. Usually a few pieces of bread or some crackers.
I was just opening a cabinet when my phone chimed with the notification that someone was out front on the street level. Normally, I’d ignore it—my standard assumption was that anyone pushing the shop’s buzzer at this hour was either drunk or had some nefarious motive—but I worried it was Derrick, having accidentally left something else behind.
I pulled up my security app and saw a dark, hooded shape standing outside. Yup, definitely ignoring it.
They pushed the buzzer again. And again.
I tapped the microphone button. “Get fucked.”
The figure pulled their hood back and turned toward the camera. Surprise shot through me. It was my brother. What the hell was Blake doing here this late? And why hadn’t he texted or called first?
Frowning, I went downstairs to let him in.
The second Blake was through the door, I locked it behind him and reset the exterior alarm. If I took after Mom, he took after Dad: tall, sandy-haired, freckle-faced, with shoulders too wide for his gangly body. He looked like shit. Like he’d aged a decade in the week since I’d last seen him. Dark circles stood out beneath bloodshot brown eyes. His cheeks were hollow, skin paler than normal, and the reek of stale alcohol wafting off him was strong enough to turn my stomach.
What the hell happened to my baby brother?
I ushered him over to the seating area. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer, stumbling past me to collapse onto a chair and bury his head in his hands. Unease crept up my spine. Thiswasn’tBlake. He’d gotten Dad’s personality, too—lighthearted, jovial, a permanent smile etched on his face.
