CP:Of course not. But trust me, it'll fit.
CP:I’m at the club, but I’m here if you need me, baby.
Every time he calls me baby, or sweet girl, my thighs involuntarily squeeze together from the arousal that rushes through my entire body.
“Who are you texting?” Tossing my phone in the air, I look over my shoulder to see my mother staring back at me. Did she see? I remind myself it’s fine. She wouldn’t know who I’m texting, even if shedidsee, because he isn’t labeled as himself in my phone. I’ve never been more grateful for my dumb inside jokes.
I pick up my phone, inspect it for cracks and turn to face her. Shit, she looks terrible. Dark circles encase both her eyes and her shoulder length hair is a disheveled mess.
“No one important. Are you feeling okay Mom? I got here two hours ago to pick you up for dinner and found you in bed. What happened?”
“I’m fine, darling. I just needed some sleep.” She dismisses my concern so easily, it’s infuriating. She may think I am, but I’m not an idiot. I know something is up with her, I just can’t figure out what.
Her eyes look me up and down, causing me to wrap my arms across my chest, like it's going to shield me from her incoming criticism.
“Isthatwhat you were going to wear to dinner?” There it is.
“Yes, Mom. It is. What’s wrong with it?” I shouldn’t have asked. I'm constantly walking right into her traps.
She reaches out and plucks at my sweater with a look of disgust staining her face. “You just don’t have the body type to pull off this outfit. I’ve told you before, you’d be so pretty if you lost some weight, and then you could wear whatever you want.Especially not leggings, dear. You’re about fifty, maybe sixty pounds too heavy for leggings.”
My face falls and all I can do is stare at her in disbelief.
“And makeup? Honey, what’s gotten into you? You never do up your face. When you’re ready, I’ll teach you how to do it… better.”
Who the fuck do you think you are? You look like you just jumped out of a pile of hot garbage and you want to criticize my makeup?The words are right on the tip of my tongue, but I let them fall away as intense shame begins to flow through me at her words. I actually thought I looked good before I left Ryker’s apartment.
“I’m seeing someone,” I admit. I’m not sure why I say it, but a part of me needs her to know that someonedoessee my beauty… my value.
Her eyes widen in shock, like it’s the last thing she expected me to say. “Really,” she mocks, drawing the word out for maximum effect. “I’ll believe it when I see it, dear.”
“Why would you think it’s not true?”
“Aside from the fact that I’ve never seen you with a boy, which has been concerning in itself, I just don’t see what you have to offer a man. But don’t fret. With a little work, we could get you there.”
I have no words.
“But if itistrue, I’d like to meet him.”
Not going to happen, but I know she doesn’t reallywantto meet him. It’s a challenge. She doesn’t believe I’m worthy of a man’s love because I don’t meet her expectations of what a woman should weigh, or how they should dress. If she knew my secret, she’d definitely judge me. I should be used to this by now, but her words never fail to hit their mark. I can already feel the emotions she’s stirred up, bubbling just underneath the surface of my skin, that I’d so love to crawl out of right about now.
“Sure, Mom.” I agree because being amenable is always easier than trying to argue with her. Then, before she can see the effect her harsh words have on me, I tuck tail and run, because I’m a fucking coward.
39
Ryker
The bar is open and clients are trickling in, creating a steady flow of drinks, but my mind keeps drifting to a short, curvy blonde with my plug up her ass. My dick has been at half-mast all night just thinking about it.
“Ryker,” a familiar voice interrupts my fantasy. I turn to find Axel, with a worried look on his face. “I need you upstairs. It’s important.”
What the fuck is so important that he needs to pull me off the floor? I follow him up the stairs, two steps at a time. Once we’re in his office, he walks up to the monitors and points to a car in the back lot.
“That’s a car. What am I missing?”
“Dude, look closer,” he points at the windshield and gently taps the screen three times. “That’s my fucking sister, dipshit.”
Okay, there’s no need for name calling. He may be her brother but I’m not against throat punching him to knock him down a peg or two.
