Page 57 of Sinful King

EIGHTEEN

sean

21 YEARS OLD

BLAIR (20 YEARS OLD)

My grandda didn’t likecompany.

He’d become a recluse after losing the one person who kept him sane and everyone respected his wishes to be alone.

Even today, the day after graduating from NYU on my twenty-first birthday, only I came up to Ithaca to see him.

“I’m sad I couldn’t come with,” Blair said softly into the phone, one eye in the camera as she laid in my bed where I left her.

“Next time.”

There probably wouldn’t be a next time, but I wouldn’t tell her that.

“Sounds like there won’t be one,” she surmised, lifting from the bed with the camera lowered enough for me to see she was still shirtless.

I tipped my head while she stretched, liking the view.

“You know, I love you, right?” I found myself asking as she brought the camera to her face. “I don’t even want to go inside cause it means not talking to you for a few hours.”

And because going inside meant reliving a part of my life I hated thinking of.

“I know you do, little deer. What’s wrong? You seem hesitant.”

Sometimes I forget how easily she could read me.

But thankfully, the Irishman I had for a grandfather got tired of me idling in my truck without entering and came to get me.

He stood at six-foot-six like my da and uncle, but instead of their deep brown skin, his was pale. We all shared his light brown eyes and some variation of his solid build.

Instead of the slacks and partially unbuttoned dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up I’d grown used to, he wore dark wash blue jeans, work boots and no fucking shirt.

Sixty-one looked good on him.

“Ah, looks like the old man is over waiting,” I mused with a chuckle. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, I love you.”

I tapped the end button after returning the sentiment, left it against the dashboard and got out.

Phones weren’t allowed on the ranch.

“Duine éigin tábhachtach?” he asked as I approached, forgoing a greeting to get in my business.Someone important?

For a second, I hesitated mentioning anything about Blair and what she meant to me, but lying didn’t feel right.

I watched my grandmother die, and he lost his wife but I wouldn’t hide my person because of it.

“A ghrá mo shaol.”The love of my life.

He nodded and turned, the large deer tattoo on his back still crisp and clean as the first time I’d seen it.

“You should’ve brought her,” he said, leading me around the main house to the back where he’d set up for our ink session.

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