Page 28 of Off-Limits
“Well?”
“I didn’t like the way she talked to Arrie.”
“And?”
“There is no and.”
“Yes, there is, girly, don’t lie to me.”
Drawing her lip into her mouth she turns away, and I can see the war waging in her mind from here. The damn cogs are so loud they’re drowning out my own thoughts.
“Dottie.”
“Arrie told me why she didn’t like her.”
Ah fuck.
I decide to play dumb.
“And why didn’t she like her?”
Now it’s her turn to arch a knowing eyebrow at me.
“Really? I’m twenty-four, not thirteen, Uncle Damon. Quit the bullshit.”
Her sass makes my smirk widen, and I’m not even going to mention what’s going on in my jeans right now, but I need her to stop calling me fucking Uncle Damon. It makes my reaction toward her even dirtier than it ought to be, and I’m not sure I hate it.
Fuck.
“Ok, Miss Independent, then tell me: what am I bullshitting about?”
Her cheeks turn redder than a fucking tomato.
“Really?”
I wave my hand at her to proceed.
“That you…” she trails off.
I shouldn’t like this as much as I do.
“That I?”
“That you, ah, yeah.”
I kick off the bench and move toward her. Standing a meter away from her, I lean forward and look her in the eye.
“That I what? Fucked her?”
Her chin dips and a few strands of her hair fall from her messy bun, shielding her features and reaction from me. I don’t like it. My fingers itch to move the hair, but just as I’m about to do exactly that, the door slams closed and my daughter yells out.
My fucking daughter.
We spring apart.
“Dottie! You best be up, bitch. I want to see the sketch you did,” she says, rounding the corner only to lock eyes with me.
Surprise fills her face before she’s running and jumping into my arms.
