Page 22 of Love is Angry

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

I’m not sure if she’s serious or if she’s kidding. I decide to play it safe. “I have seen originals auctioned on eBay. I could send you a link. Some of the offers were pretty affordable,” I say. “Or, if there is one issue in particular that you’d be interested in, I could put in a good word with Santa for you this year.”

Madison leans back into the armchair, smiling coolly as she crosses her legs. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a simple black sweater tonight, but I can see the lacy strap of her bra on one half-naked shoulder, and those leather biker boots give her a certain edge that sets me on fire.

“You’re going to be a handful, I can tell,” she says.

“Oh, I hope so,” I reply, wishing she would pick up on the double entendre as fast as I concocted it before opening my mouth. Just the thought of her touching me and taking my cock in her hands makes me shift in my seat, slightly uncomfortable with a growing, hardening bulge.

“I think I understand now why the girls said you’re dangerous.”

I’m intrigued. “Dangerous? Pray tell, who said that about me?”

She chuckles lightly. “Every single senior I’m working with—mind you, every single female senior I’m working with is absolutely terrified and enthralled by you, in equal measures. Do you practice these lines, or do they come naturally?”

“What else have they told you about me?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Sorry. Can’t elaborate. There’s a certain sanctity that’s attached to my work sessions.”

“Ah, so, everything that happens tonight stays solely and strictly between us,” I reply.

Her sharpness dissolves like a sugar cube tossed in hot water. I don’t know what happened, but the cool and perfectly self-controlled Madison Willis seems to disappear, and another creature takes her place.

There is something about the thought of us two being alone that seems to make her incredibly nervous. The strength she exuded is suddenly gone, like wisps of smoke in the wind, but the creature she has transformed into is another kind of spectacular.

There’s a sweet fragility about Madison Willis, a shyness that stirs me deeply. An instinct to protect her, to shield her from anything that might spoil the beauty before me. I am compelled.

Lance was right. Madison Willis will make your heart grow three sizes and your balls three shades of blue. And now it’s me on the receiving end of it. But it doesn’t have to stay that way, does it? Tonight, she’s all mine tonight…at least for a couple of hours. It’s my chance to ensnare and claim her. Sooner or later, cold or sharp or shy, she will be mine.

Chapter 11

Rhue

As much as I have tried to avoid it, dinner with the “family” remains unavoidable. And if Mohammed refuses to go back to Rochester for the mountain, the mountain has found his way to Ithaca one weekend after Laura. He brought my sister along, too, though I’m not sure why. She looks utterly miserable. At least the table we’re seated at is round. It sort of brings us together but keeps an arm’s length between us.

Dad likes Italian restaurants most, which is funny considering we’re of Mexican descent. It’s a nice place he’s picked. Downtown, plenty of parking, and complimentary rosemary focaccia and sparkling water. I like it. Or at least, I would have liked it, if it I wasn’t sitting at the table withhim.

The walls are painted a soft cream with white gesso sculptural crown molding. The floors are proper walnut hardwood, provoking a dark contrast against the tall, white baseboard. The curtains are lacy ivory with satin tiebacks, and the tablecloths are pearl linen beneath milky porcelain and brassy cutlery. It’s an excellent combination, and though I’m not usually one to stop and admire the décor, here I am doing just that. Proves how good this place is on that front.

It’s a busy night at Il Truffatore, but the music is mainly Sinatra and melodiously blended into the background, drowned out only by the occasional bout of laughter and clinking of glasses, so the atmosphere is just right.

Which makes our presence here just wrong.

Dad sits in his chair with a partial slouch, one elbow resting on the table as he checks his phone. Laura pokes a fork through bits of focaccia on her plate, absent and awkward while checking the time on her phone every other second. She can’t wait for this to be over. And I cannot possibly blame her for wanting to get out of here. We’re still looking at the menus, pretending we actually have an appetite. Well, I speak for Laura and myself, at least. Dad has always been a beast of his own.

It’s hard to even look at him, after everything that has happened. Maybe part of what makes the sight of my father so unbearable is how much we look alike. I’ve got my mother’s eyes, but most of what I am comes from Julian Echeveria. Most of who I am, too, as much as I hate it. In the end, it’s why I came to Cornell. To take his place, someday. He loves me, he dotes on me, and I can barely stand being around him.

“How’s the school so far?” Dad asks after a long and awkward silence.

I think he’s talking to me, since Laura is still in high school. “It’s great,” I tell him. “Everything I imagined it would be.”

Living as an Echeveria has taught me to say the things I know he will want to hear. It usually keeps him content and helps keep conversations to a minimum. I couldn’t tell him to fuck off. When Dad says we’re having a family dinner, well, then, we’re having a family dinner whether we like it or not. Laura takes a sip of her sparkling water. Steve is in the car outside, waiting to be summoned if needed.

“And the apartment? I suppose we’ll be seeing it later,” he replies. There’s a flat smile on his face that irks me beyond belief.I steal a glance at Laura. Poor soul. She desperately wants this to be over.

“It’s good,” I say. “Comfortable. Has all the necessary amenities.”

The waiter returns to take our order. “Have you decided? Or perhaps you would like me to make a recommendation?” He’s got a powerful Italian accent. It’s almost comical watching my dad watch his lips.

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