Page 191 of Burning Ember
Men are sexual creatures. As women, this is something we must never forget.
EMBER
The horrible feeling in my belly won’t subside and it’s getting worse every day. I try not to let it bug me that Mav is once again at the clubhouse, but the same questions keep tunneling through my mind, making it difficult to study for my GED test I take in two days.
What is so important that he needs to be there all the time? Is he sick of us invading his home and doesn’t dare say anything? Or is there simply someone else’s company there he prefers to mine? And if the answers yes, then who’s?
Because so help me God, if it’s Star’s, I will kill them both. Actually, I might just kill him no matter who it is. I know where he hides his guns.
Swallowing past the emotional lump in my throat, I push down my murderous thoughts.
All day I’ve had to scold myself that I will not . . . under any circumstances . . . do what Blaire did last Friday. Sneak into the clubhouse and kick open my old man’s bedroom door. The last thing I want to see is Mav with someone else. Or two someones in Bodie’s case.
When Lily told me that story during our Margarita Monday yesterday, I almost felt bad for Blaire except I really don’t like her. She was a complete bitch to me at Thanksgiving, and I’m actually hoping she won’t be at the HOC Christmas party.
Yeah . . .Christmas, days away. Not the most opportune time to have my relationship with Mav go up in flames. Considering Will hasn’t stopped bouncing off the walls since Mav put her first presents under the tree.
She counts them daily, and there’s ten now. I finally had to tell Mav no more.
I keep asking myself why he would do that, spoil her, if he doesn’t want us here.
Why would he keep telling me that I didn’t need a job, and to focus on passing this test and college, if he knew this wasn’t working?
“Ugh . . . for Christ sake, Ember, just ask him. Today. When he gets home. Then you can stop torturing yourself and start doing damage control. And do it now, before she gets more attached to him, and this house, and the damn dog, and the idea of us one day being a real family.”
I groan and rub my hands over my face. Peeking under the table, I nudge Saint, who’s curled up on top of my feet, keeping them warm. “See, this is what happens when I spend too much time alone. I start talking to myself. Why don’t you wake up and distract me? I’m going a little nuts up here.”
When I get no response, I check the clock on the microwave.
Lily and Will aren’t due back for two more hours, and knowing Lily like I do she’ll get so absorbed in shopping, she’ll forget about the time. So two hours really means four.
Pushing away from the table, I head upstairs. If I can’t study, then I might as well do something mind numbing, like clean. After stealing Mav’s iPod and headphones off his dresser, I go back to the kitchen. I unload the dishwater and then dust. When I’m still buzzing with anxiety, I attack the floor.
While singing Trapt’s “Headstrong” under my breath, I sit back on my heels and reach for the bucket to rinse the rag in. I’m just getting ready to finish the last section, when his dark boots catch my eye.
I let my gaze slowly walk up the sight of him standing in the doorway. He’s leaning with his shoulder against the wall, and his legs are crossed at his ankles. He’s wearing those damn ripped jeans he likes so much, and a heather gray Henley that’s tucked in behind his belt buckle.
He’s more built now than he was before because he works out nearly every day either running, boxing, or lifting weights. In fact his arms are pure porn. Porn that I actively appreciate at least a few times a day.
“Hey,” I say with a grin and pull down the headphones so they’re resting around my neck.
“Couldn’t study?”
“No. Too worried about . . .”
He runs his hand through his hair and just like that, my train of thought vanishes. I imagine for a second running my own fingers it, and grabbing on to it while he reacquaints himself with a part of my anatomy that misses him terribly. Because though his hair is still short, it’s now long enough to make my dream a reality.
He stares down at me. “Passing the test?” His eyes leave my face and roam further down my body. Ummm . . . yeah. I cringe because I look like a slob. My hair’s in a messy bun and my not-so-nice tank top and sleep shorts are pretty worn out. Also, as I was pulling the bucket out of the sink after I filled it, the lip of it caught on the faucet spout, and spilled down my front, instantly making me smell like a forest of pine trees.
I look up in time to see Mav rub his hand over his mouth. I’m not sure I hear him right, but he angrily growls something like, “Christ Almighty, do you have to wear that shit?” and then turns away. He leaves the kitchen like his pants are on fire and the next thing I know he’s flying up the stairs.
Really?
Heat crawls up my neck. I throw the rag I was using into the bucket and decide to follow him. Will isn’t home and it’s as perfect a time as any to figure out what in the freaking hell is going on with him. As I climb the stairs, I do my best to muster up the courage I’ll need. But he’s not in his room or mine. Then I hear the shower turn on. Taking a deep breath, I grab the knob, open the door, and walk in.
“Em?” he calls out.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
