I don’t have the resources for something like that, but Rory does.
All I have to do is tell him.
But the nagging voice inside my head won’t shut up.
Royce isn’t just an ex-boyfriend.
He’s FBI.
FBI and mafia don’t mix.
This could mean trouble for the syndicate, and no doubt about it, Lachlan Crow would not sanction a risk like that for me.
Rory would probably do it, anyway.
And I am torn.
There are two voices in my head now, at war.
Don’t drag him into this, the first voice says.
All the while, the other is telling me we don’t give a fuck and let’s just do this already.
Moral dilemmas aren’t my forte.
I’m paralyzed with indecision when Rory wakes up beside me.
He kisses the mangy looking hobo that I am sans makeup and doesn’t blink an eye, and this does not make it any easier.
“Gym?” he asks.
“Oh.” Right. “Sure.”
We shower again. Together, again.
And everything’s becoming too comfortable. And I feel like I can’t fucking breathe.
It only gets worse as the morning progresses.
Once my hair is braided and I’ve got makeup on, Rory walks up behind me and snaps a picture of us with his phone.
“Did you just take a selfie with me?” I ask, horrified.
“I did.” He smirks. “Get used to it, Satan. I want lots of pretty pictures of you on my phone.”
As if that comment weren’t bad enough, he introduces me to ‘the lads’ at the gym as his girlfriend.
“You want to put a collar on me while you’re at it?” I ask. “Property of Saint?”
“Not a bad idea.” He grins and flashes me the fucking dimples, and I tell him to put them away because that shit doesn’t work on me.
“Alright.” He tosses me some hand wrap thingies and says, “let’s do this.”
After showing me how to wrap my hands, he dives into professor mode. But professors aren’t supposed to be like Rory and he’s too close and he keeps cracking jokes about how he’s coming for my ass and my tits or whatever. He gropes me and I’m not learning anything other than I’m not capable of learning when there are hormones involved.
I have no focus.
I shouldn’t even be here with him right now, wrestling around on mats and listening to his dirty talk/self-defense.
