I laugh. “That seems like such a dad thing.”
“Depends on the dad, I guess,” he mumbles beside me.
I want to dig deeper into his comment, but he’s already giving me so much by just showing me these pictures, so I change the subject. “And this is August, isn’t it?” I point to the last frame.
“It is.”
I smile, noticing this is the only picture that seems updated. Easton is smiling while her chubby little hands frame his face and mirror his smile.
“She’s adorable.” I muse and face him.
He shrugs. “Ciccone genes.”
I roll my eyes at his sarcastic comment but follow him toward the exit.
Easton leads me toward the hall, closing the door behind us. He doesn’t speak on our way back to the kitchen. Along the way, I take in my surroundings, realizing very quickly that he has great taste. Unlike the naked hallway, the rooms we’ve passed are nicely decorated.
The bright light from his kitchen welcomes me, bringing my mind back to where he is. He passes my hand to his right from behind his back, and swings me in the direction of a stool, his silent attempt at telling me to have a seat.
My eyes fall to his ass when he pulls the oven open. I bite my bottom lip, letting my gaze trail up his spine then back down. I’ve only ever seen him dressed up, and now all I can do is picture what he would look like with denim stretched over his body. And it’s not that I’ve never noticed him before because who wouldn’t?
But there’s something about now. Something that makes him ten times sexier. And that scares me because I know what happens to a moth that gets too close to the flame.
Chapter Eleven
Easton
Getting through dinner without ripping her clothes off was fucking hell. Even now while standing in my game room after dinner, barefoot with a tumbler of liquor in her hand, it’s still hell. At some point during the night, she figured out how to work my stereo and has hooked her Spotify up to it.
I don’t even care what music plays through the speakers, all I know is that it’s not helping my vibe right now. But then it could just be her, dancing around the room barefoot and tipsy. Carefree looks good on her, and the thought of that twists at my insides.
I hate myself; for a mixture of things, honestly. For bringing her here. For wanting her. Even for parking in her spot. Maybe then things would be different. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to do things I never would have regretted before her. But after it’s all said and done, she won’t be this version of herself. She’ll be something else entirely—and I’ll be the cause of it.
So I hate myself, and most of all…I hate her, too.
She continues to enjoy herself, and I allow her to have her moment. As she dances in place, I sneak into the kitchen to refill my drink and grab a glass of water for her. On the way back, I catch sight of her tote that’s fallen over with some of her things sticking out of it.
I sit the drinks on the closest end table and stroll over to pick the items up. I stuff her wallet, a few pens, and her phone back inside, but not before pressing the home button to find there are no missed calls. I shouldn’t care who calls her number but I do. Shaking my head at the realization of that, I grip the book that has also escaped her bag.
I chuckle to myself when I read the title:Monster in Love, a Dark Mafia Romance.
“What are you doing?” she questions behind me.
Without standing, I turn my head to look at her from the corner of my eye, holding her book out for her to see. “Dark Mafia, huh?” I smirk.
Arloe rushes to me, trying to yank the book from my grasp, but I’m upright before she gets a chance. I hold my arm high above her head, grinning even wider when she tries to reach it, jumping up on her toes and grunting. Her breast scrapes against my chest, and she feels it the same time that I do.
Her breath hitches, and she tries to back away, but my hand is at the small of her back before I realize what I’m doing. Arloe stares up at me, her breaths still uneven, and her gaze roaming my face. When her eyes fall to my lips, I do the same, wanting nothing more than to bite her bottom one until I see blood.
She blinks and swallows, the motion loud enough for me to hear. Once more she tries to reach for the book, and I find myself relaxing just a bit, allowing her enough room to touch my hand. Our palms connect, and I don’t know if she notices it, but she’s no longer trying to take the book from me.
I want to kiss her, then watch her mouth swell from the rush of blood. Her skin is already turning pink, and I can bet the rest of her is capable of turning the same shade if I cave to my desires and have my way with her. If I spank her flesh and brand my handprint into the meat of her ass.
Yeah, she’d definitely be red all over.
Arloe settles on her feet, her tits no longer against my chest. I miss it. But instead of telling her that, or pulling her back to me, I let my hand fall away from her back then turn my attention back to the book.
“You really like this crap?” I say to break the awkward silence.
