Page 6 of One Taste
“No problem.” He smiles. “That should help keep your fiery sister happy.”
I hate when he gets that look in his eyes when Madison comes up in conversation. Jax has been making lewd comments about my sister since high school. I think it’s more of the forbidden aspect that comes with the idea of hooking up with her. I’ve made itclear over the last sixteen years that if he so much as touches my sister with a pinky toe, I’ll murder him and throw his body in the Hudson.
“Keep your mind and filthy thoughts far away from my sister.”
I love Jax, but he’s just as big of a whore as I am. My sister is way too good for him.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off. “I know. Let’s get back to me kicking your ass and taking your money.”
Devin
“Honey, I’m home,” I callout as I close the door behind me and kick off my shoes. My feet throb. How the hell did Carrie Bradshaw run all over the streets of New York City in all those spectacular shoes as if it was nothing more than running a 5K in tennis shoes?Damn you, Sex in the City.
Brielle struts down the hallway, her hair in a high messy bun, glasses on her nose, and a textbook in hand. “How were your interviews?”
“You look like the hottest librarian I’ve ever seen in yoga pants and a hoodie.”
She curtsies as if I’ve told her she won an actual award. “Thank you. Thank you.”
I drop my bag on the bench of the hall tree Brielle has next to her front door and head toward the kitchen. I’m exhausted, and I don’t know whether I want coffee or wine. “How were your classes?”
“I asked first,” she says leaning a hip against the counter as I pull out a mug for coffee making my drink decision.
I’ve been back home for five days, and I’ve already been on three interviews. I should probably fire my recruiter because none of them seemed like a decent place to work, let alone a fit for my goals and career plan. “They were shitty, so distract me with your day for a few minutes, please.”
Brielle closes her textbook and drops it on the counter before hopping her ass up next to it. “Well, my first class was boring as shit, as usual... I mean this professor is ruining the class for me. I was looking forward to Impressionism. Monet is one of my favorites, but this dude is literally a dinosaur and probably was around when Monet was actually painting ‘Water Lilies’.”
Brielle has always loved art. She minored in it in college to break up her finance classes despite everyone in her life telling her she was not going to like a life in finance. Brielle is eccentric and marches to the beat of her own drum. She needs freedom and creativity in her life and a job in business analyzing numbers and budgets would have never cut it for her. Four years ago, her parents died in a car crash, leaving Brielle with a lot of money and a lot of grief. Two years ago, she made the decision to go back to school and get a BA in Art History before moving on to her Masters. She wants to open up her own gallery in her parents’ memory.
“That bad, huh?”
“Let’s put it this way, I now know how Ferris Bueller and his friends felt in that class with the dude who calls his name over and over.”
That gets a laugh out of me. Just what I needed. “I’m sorry, babe,” I tell her after the chuckling subsides. “It’s only the third week of the semester so maybe it will get better.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay because Karma made up for it with the professor in my second class of the day. Professor Big Bulge makes everything all better.”
My coffee shoots out my nose making my eyes water as I cough and sputter. “You did not just say that.”
Her eyebrows pique as if I shouldn’t even have to question that.
“Seriously, Devin, his package looks huge and he’s Australian with the most beautiful accent. He could read me the fucking white pages and I’d probably come. Although, I’m sure that monster he’s packing in his pants could make me come over and over as well.”
“You cannot sleep with your professors, Brielle!”
Her forehead scrunches and she looks confused. “Why the hell not? I’m not some teenage kid in my freshmen year. I’m a grown woman. I can sleep with whomever I want.”
Walking over to her, I grip her shoulder and look her dead in the eye. “Brielle Nicole Montgomery, you cannot sleep with your professor. It will discredit you and all your work.”
“Says who? How would anyone know? I’m not talking about falling in love with the man; I just want to see how big his cock is under those tight chinos and maybe have him talk dirty to me with that sweet accent.”
She’s hopeless. I roll my eyes. “Will you please at least wait until after the semester, then? You know when he’s not actually one of your current professors?”
“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I’m still trying to see if he’s single. Lack of a ring doesn’t mean anything these days and his IG is private.”
“You’ve already stalked his IG account? Lord, help you.”
She pushes off the counter and heads over to the Keurig. “Stop telling me what I shouldn’t do”—she pops a pod in the coffee maker—“and start telling me why your interviews were so shitty?”
