Page 23 of Nash

But what would be hard, devastating actually, is if I give in to temptation, too. There’d be no going back, and Alena would read it all over us, the guilt undeniable.

I’d rather die than break her heart.

So, today, I break my naughty, gothic tradition. I still whip my hair into two braids, but then I slip on a vintage, white, mod miniskirt before I button on a tight, red cashmere sweater. Loyal to my Mary Janes, I wedge them on before checking the mirror above my dresser. My tube of Midnight Merlot calls next. Carefully, I paint my lips before swiping eyeliner on, creating thin, black batwings at the corner of my eyes before adding a little mascara.

There. That’s as good as it gets, folks.

“Vale,” Nash booms from my bathroom. “Bring me my GO BAG, the black one.”

“Say, please.”

“Now!”

“I don’t speak Dickhead.”

I giggle, loving this. I may need him for protection now, but who says I can’t make him my entertainment, too?

“God. Fucking. Dammit, woman!”

He swings the door open and…

Holy towel snake and tattoos.

My jaw drops. Call a dentist. I cracked some teeth, too.

Why?

Look at him!

Nash Allen is all ink. Muscles. More ink. More muscles, then more ink with tan abs everywhere. Another huge tattoo, a skull with wings, spans the width of his Adonis belt, and I stare at it as his fist clutches his white towel that can’t hide what’s hanging huge under it.

He sees me staring right at it. I must look stupified, like a horny, mating doe in headlights, but he’s too angry.

He storms across the room, fuming, “You gotta make everything hard, don’t you?”

“Oh,do Imake it hard?”

See? It’s a disease. My smartassery can’t be cured.

Ripping his bag open, he snarls, “Yeah, you make our lives hard when you’re foolish like this. You play games when we need to play smart. We need to be on time, like normal, so no one knows, and I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Being polite isn’t bullshit. It’s respect. Speak to me with it if you want something done.”

He pivots, holding his towel in one hand, his clean clothes fisted in the other. “What I want is to keep you alive without having to treat you like a goddamn snowflake.”

My eyes narrow. “I can handle the heat.”

“I know you can. I raised you that way, so fucking act like it.”

“Youraisedme?” Disgust and rage barrel through my veins. “You’re NOT my father. I never saw you that way, and I never will.”

He shakes his head, his lips tensing. “And you’re not my daughter. I never saw you that way, either. But I’ve known you too long, and I care too much. So, just shut up and do what I say.”

I charge toward him. “Telling a woman to shut up is like turning your back on a tiger because every pussy will pounce and rip your fucking head off for doing it.” I huff, “No wonder you’re single.”

I’m inches from him, able to smell my shampoo in his hair. Able to see ironically, how he has a snarling lion covering his right hulking pec and a raging tiger on his left one. They’re like us, eye to eye and fighting over his heart.

“I’m notsingle,” he growls, and my gasp is audible.

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