Page 41 of Bred By the Minotaur
I bite my lip, because I don’t want to talk about this in front of Milo.
He glances up at me. “What’s that?”
“It’s my other job,” I say quickly. “It’s, um, how I met your dad.”
Before he can ask more questions, Imelda stands up. “All right, Milo. Time to get ready for bed. Have you had a bath yet?”
I cringe. I haven’t really given his hygiene as much thought as I should.
He pouts as he says, “No.”
“Then go on upstairs and I’ll start the water.”
Milo stalks away, clearly displeased with this turn of events. “Phoebe was way more fun,” he mutters.
I get up, too, and head to the kitchen to pack up my things.
“Stay as long as you want,” Imelda says, but now that she’s back... there’s no reason for me to be here.
“That’s okay. I have to go check on my sister.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “It was fun.”
“Maybe you can watch him again,” Imelda says as I head to the door. “I could use a break sometimes, and he clearly likes you.”
I hover with my hand on the knob. I would love to spend more time with Milo, and especially with Milo and Hank.
“Maybe you should reconsider the offer about the spare room,” Imelda goes on. “I think it would be really good for Milo to have you around. I know Hank won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
The way she says it, like there’s a world in which I would want to do things with Hank, makes my skin warm. It might also be torture to have to see him day in and day out, and not try to think about how well he took me on the breeding bench—and what it would be like to do it again, maybe even on that big bed of his in that dark bedroom.
Imelda flashes me a look like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“I really shouldn’t—” I begin.
“Oh, stop it,” she says, batting a hand. “It’s not doing you any good sleeping on a couch every night when there’s a perfectly good room with a bed here.”
Without waiting for my answer, she ushers me out the door.
“Goodnight,” I tell her.
“Call Hank tomorrow,” she says in answer. Then she shuts it behind me.
Fifteen
Hank
When I get off work that night, I have a text message from Phoebe waiting for me.
Does the offer of the spare room still stand?
My heart leaps—no, it fucking flies—into my throat. Hastily I text out an answer, even though it’s the middle of the night and she’s probably asleep.
Yes, it does.
She wants to live with us. Even if it’s just in a roommate capacity, she wants to live. With. Us.
Milo and I. In our house. In the spare room.
Damn. I get a boner in the car just thinking about it. It’s going to be tough to keep my hands to myself, but I will until she’s ready.
