Page 39 of Bred By the Minotaur
“It has nothing to do with the crush you have on his dad, right?” Sandra giggles at my pained expression.
Instead of rising to her bait, I get up and do what I can around the house, taking out the trash and recycling, then pushing the bins down to the curb.
“Thanks,” Sandra says, pushing her plate aside. I take it to the sink for her and put it in the dishwasher. “You should probably go back in case Milo wakes up.” She sighs when I head for the front door. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“I just don’t want to send Hank the wrong message, either.”
I glance over my shoulder and find my sister giving me a deadpan look.
“I think you’ve shut that guy down enough times that he gets the picture.”
Feeling guilty, I head back to Hank’s house. Down the hall is the guest room, and it’s neatly made up, with the fresh scent of detergent in the air.
I flop down on the bed and groan. Wow. This is by far the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever felt in my life. How long has it been since I slept in a real bed?
It’s like my whole body finally relaxes for the first time in a month as I sink deeper, my face vanishing into the pillow. I’m asleep before I’ve even finished closing my eyes.
Hank
I’m surprised when I get home to find coloring books all over the table, along with what must be Phoebe’s work tablet. Dinner was clearly cooked, because the dishes are in the dishwasher but the pans are still dirty. It brings a smile to my lips to remember the conversation Phoebe and I had about her sister, and how sometimes she just wished she could leave the dishes until later.
I’m still full of pep after the energy drink I had earlier in the night, so I clean up the kitchen, imagining how much fun they had while doing art together at the table. When I’m finished, I tiptoe up the stairs and down the hallway, where I’m surprised to find the guest room door ajar. When I push it open with my nose and peer in, a head of blonde hair peeks out of the blankets.
Phoebe’s here, and she’s sleeping like the dead.
I smile to myself as I draw away from the door, then head to Milo’s room to check on him. It means the world to me that she feels comfortable in my home. It’s probably too much to hope, but perhaps tomorrow, she’ll reconsider my offer to move in.
I think she needs it as much as I do.
I wake sometime in the afternoon to the faint hum of voices downstairs. I’d left my schedule written on the fridge so Phoebe would know when to expect me up, and I’m thrilled to see her again.
When I pop into the kitchen, Phoebe and Milo are standing in front of the stove, Milo up on a footstool so he can reach.
“You tap the shell on the edge of the pan—not too hard, just to crack the shell,” Phoebe says.
Milo smashes the egg against the pan, which blows the egg open. Phoebe laughs so loud I’m shocked by it.
“Okay, not like that,” she says with infinite patience, and grabs another egg, even though she’s now covered in raw yolk. “Try again, but not so hard.”
She glances up, finally noticing me in the doorway, and gives me a shy smile. Then she turns back to the egg Milo’s just cracked into the pan and fishes some eggshell out of it.
“Sorry,” she says, helping Milo off the footstool. “We wanted to surprise you with dinner, but Milo insisted it would be breakfast for you, so we decided to make eggs and toast.”
My stomach rumbles in response, and Phoebe and Milo laugh in unison.
Soon, “dinner” is ready, and I have to pick some shells out of my eggs.
Sorry, Phoebe mouths to me.
While she cuts up some of Milo’s food, all I can do is watch and admire them. Something about the way she moves, how she looks at him, how I imagine her already growing another one of my calves inside her... I feel warm all over, from my throat straight to my balls.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, and perfect, and everything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. All my years have simply been building up to this moment, when I truly saw my future wife for the first time.
That’s what she is. She will be—I’m certain of it now. And you know what they say about bulls.
We’re stubborn fuckers.
Phoebe
