I look at Debbie and still see the rueful look there. But she doesn’t push on.
“These boys need a strong woman in their lives, Elodie,” Debbie says, “one who can take their bullshit and give it back tenfold if need be. They need someone to keep them in line.”
Alfie chuckles. “Then El’s the perfect candidate for that. She doesn’t stand for any of Caden’s shit.”
Debbie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Now that is delightful. I couldn’t name one girl that would say the same.”
I shrug a shoulder. “He doesn’t scare me.”
Debbie gives me a proud smile. “Oh, you’re definitely a keeper.”
I hope the fuck not.
***
The afternoon passes quickly after lunch. Debbie’s so easy to talk to and I can tell how at ease Alfie is around her. It becomes clear just how tense he really is at home, how he walks around with stiff shoulders and divots between the eyes that are now gone. Or always shaking one limb or another. Flitting about like his mind’s racing with thoughts that have him changing directions every ten seconds. But here, he’s relaxed, calm. At home.
My heart aches for him. How much duress he’s constantly under in this family when he’s not at home with his mother. How much pressure he must feel to always be on guard, always alert, always ready for something.
Right here, he looks like any normal guy, just spending the afternoon with his mum in the wonderful garden, and not someone who’s part of an evil underworld that gnaws at your soul until there’s nothing left.
Alfie is so different.
Okay, I’m highly attracted to him.
And he must be to me, right? He brought me here to meet hismother. There must be something in that.
I’m draped in infatuation by him. Engulfed in attraction and desire. I really fucking like Alfie. I’m not dumb enough to believe there’s not a mean streak in him, he’s a Blackwood, first of all, and second, he’s gone “off the rails” before, that’s enough to know that there’s a beast inside him somewhere, but as long as I don’t see it, why should I care?
It’s hard to fathom he could be anything but what he is to me, especially as we sit here around the garden table and he bringshis hand to rest on my knee as he continues speaking to his mum. Debbie looks down at his hand and then back up at me, a genuine smile creeping across her lips. I blush.
I’m not meant to be Alfie’s. I’m meant for his cousin. But right now, I want to bask in this moment. I want to pretend that I am not a prisoner, I’m not destined for a life of hell. I’m with Alfie and I’m his girl and we’re visiting his mother for the hundredth time. Our dog is running around merrily on the long stretch of grass in front of us and everything is wonderful.
When Alfie says it’s time to get going soon, I offer to help him take in the mugs and glasses we’ve sipped on through the day. He accepts my offer, and we stride back into the house while I see Debbie sneak back to the flower bed and start pulling up the weeds again.
Smiling brightly to myself, the sensation foreign to the muscles in my face, I follow Alfie to the kitchen. He goes about putting all the dishes in the dishwasher and I’m so overcome with adoration and lust and whatever else is making me feel light and fluffy that I go over to him and place a hand on his thick tattooed arm.
He freezes at the contact, half bent over the dishwasher.
“This has been the best day I’ve had in a very long time,” I say quietly.
Alfie peers up at me, then straightens, a seriousness on his face. “Me too.”
Good. This is a good sign. Maybe I’m not deluded, maybe he feels what I’m feeling.
We’re staring at each other now, something heavy and light all at once passing between us. His eyes don’t leave mine as his fingers come up and graze under my jaw, sliding around to behind my ear, and my breath hitches. I’m lost so deep in the blue of his eyes I’m drowning in the Pacific with no lifeboat. I’ll never see land again and I don’t care because I’m sinking so farinto this moment and it’s wrapping its warm arms around me and the rough pad of his thumb brushes my bottom lip and I might just sink to the murky depths of bliss.
I dare to slip my tongue past my teeth, lick the tip of his thumb, and his breath snags too.
I don’t know what gives me the bravery – the audacity – but I’m suddenly struck dumb by his touch, by the hunger so blatant in his eyes. Hedoeswant me. And I want him. He brought me to meet his mother, for crying out loud. I push my luck. I reach my hand out blindly, not daring to break this gaze that has seeped itself into my bones and set my heart on fire. I hit my target.
My fingers brush against something hard, something strained against his trousers. His eyes grow wide, a small groan escapes him.
“El,” he breathes, and it’s like a sedative on his lips straight onto mine.
He’s so close, so close I can taste him. The zing of hot sauce from his chicken and the even hotter burn of his arousal.
I stroke my hand down farther, getting a better insight to just how long he is. His fingers curl slightly, pushing firmer against the skin around my jaw and neck. He can definitely feel my raging pulse beneath his fingertips. I’m about to crumple into a pile of butterflies and burning, steaming lava.
