Page 26 of All Your Firsts

“You want to pull a number? You seemawfully worried.”

“Absolutely not,” she says with a smirk. “Just wondering when it’s my turn to bring someone to the guesthouse. You know, try out the bed.”

My smile vanishes, and my mood sours further, if possible.

She’s playing with fire, and she knows it.

She’s trying to make me jealous, and it’s working.

“You don’t get turns.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m fucking serious.”

“And so am I. It’s not fair you get to have all the fun,” she complains with that same fucking smile she had yesterday. She’s practically giddy with the way she’s pissing me off. I can’t help but feel like I need to get the last word in and win this little battle we seem to always have.

I lean on the counter and narrow my eyes at her before licking my lips, which I know she’ll look at. When I know I have her full attention, I give her a hard stare as if I’m looking under her clothes to make her uncomfortable. I gaze down her delectable body, at least from what I can see from behind the counter, then back up, stopping at her eyes that reveal her every emotion.

Irritation, anger, and a flicker of something else.

She squirms under the heat of my gaze as if I’m caressing her body with my hands.

And this is why I need to walk out right now. Why am I doing this to myself? I’m here to reprimand her, and all I can think about is bending her over my knee and spanking her.

“You bring anyone to my house, and I will kill them. Do you understand?”

“Sure thing, Dad,” she mutters as she bends down out of view.

I stomp back to my truck and slam the door closed. I’m too irritated to eat even though my stomach groans in protest.

She won’t be honest with me, but I know who she will be honest with.

I burst into my office, passing a perplexed Samuel and my most likely furious client, and slam the door. After grabbing a piece of paper from my printer tray and a pen from my desk, I plop down in my seat and stare at the blank piece of paper as I try to come up with something to say besides sorry for leaving you hanging like a piece of shit.

The pen tapping on my desk fills the silence as I wait for inspiration that will not come.

The difference between the letters from before and now is knowing she smells like a mix of flowers and fruit, the notch she gets between her eyebrows when she’s irritated, and the groan she makes when she eats like it’s the first time every time. She seems even more satisfied with food than I do, which is difficult. Now I know the way her body looks without pants and the way her skin feels. How she breathes in and out while stretching in the gym every morning.

All of this in such a short period is fucking with me, and the resolve I had when Gage asked me to watch over her is almost nonexistent.

One Month Ago

“Yo!” I raise my head from my sketch pad as Gage saunters into my shop.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I can’t help but smile as I jump up and give him a hug.

It’s been a minute since I’ve seen the fucker. He crashed at my place for about a month after he got out and then bounced. He needed safety and anonymity until he got strong enough. It didn’t take him long, and I couldn’t be more proud.

“Just in the neighborhood,” he states while looking around my shop, nodding his head as if approving.

“Yeah, fucking right. It’s been too long, bro. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Burning down one building at a time.” He smirks.

As time went on and we were stuck in our cell, he got more vengeful, plotting moves to take down everyone who wronged him. I was behind him on that fully. Ask anyone how they’d feel after serving years behind bars for something they never did.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I say with a big-ass smile plastered on my face.

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