Page 3 of Yours To Keep
“Oh, Christ on a cracker, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant... you know… guys. They don’t typically read things like this.” She’s red as a tomato at this point and I can’t get enough of it.
“Things like what, aingeal?”Angel.Thats what she is. And I love to make her wings shiver. She steps closer to me, her hand resting against my bare chest. Her forest green eyes peer up at me from below her thick lashes. I would kill for this woman, I swear.
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me uncomfortable, but it’s not going to work. I hate being rude, Iris. But I’m not ashamed of the things I read or the things I fantasize about.” Her full lips spread into a devastating smile and I know I’m going to be wrecked for life.
“Tell me, Magnolia. What do you fantasize about?” I ask, wrapping one auburn curl around the end of my finger. I tug gently and watch her pupils dilate. My angel has a devious side.
She pushes up on her toes, her lips skimming the shell of my ear as her breath fans across my skin. I would kill for her, lay down and die for her. I would slay dragons for this woman.
“Don’t you wish I would tell you my fantasies, Dalton?” The way she says my name has my cock rock hard already, her perfectly manicured nails dragging across my skin, not helping the situation.
The shrill sound of a phone ringing breaks the spell. Magnolia steps back, blinking like she doesn’t know what came over her. Shaking her head, the moment lingering between usbroken far too soon. Sliding her cell phone from her pocket, she swipes the screen without even looking.
“Yes, mother?” She answers, walking out the door to find some privacy. Her tone is bitter and cold. I can’t imagine speaking to my mom that way. I’d catch a backhand for sure.
“What the hell are you doing, Iris?” Ember asks, quirking an eyebrow in question. I’d honestly forgotten she was standing right here watching whatever the fuck just happened between Magnolia and I.
“Absolutely nothing, Harding,” I tell her, giving her a side hug and pulling my shirt over my head. I have to get the fuck out of here and under someone else before I do something stupid like fall for Magnolia Monroe. That cannot happen.
“She’s not like the other girls, Dalton. You can’t use her and throw her away. She’d never allow it.” Ember’s smirk crawls under my skin, making me feel uncomfortable. I would never throw a woman like Magnolia away. She’s a forever kind of woman. Wifey material, as Kelsea would say.
I watch her for a few more moments, standing outside the shop window, gesturing wildly with her hands like whatever her mother is saying is upsetting her. As much as I’d like to rain down hell on anyone who causes her even a slight inconvenience, it’s not my place. Instead, I wave goodbye and push the back door open. Pulling my helmet on, I climb on my Ducati and rev the engine unnecessarily. I speed down the back alley, turning on the Main Street in front of the shop in time to see a flash of green eyes as Magnolia watches me leave.
two
Iris disappearsaround the corner as my mother drones on and on in my ear about a family dinner. Sometimes, I wonder why he flirts with me the way he does. But then I remember he flirts with everyone that way, and I'm nothing special. Especially not to a man like that. I've seen the kind of women that he leaves Pop’s with, the kind of women he parades around town. My size 16 ass would crush them, probably literally.
I shouldn’t tune my mom out, but I already know why she wants me at dinner. It's nothing different than it’s always been since the day I turned 15. She's doing her best to marry me off to whatever eligible bachelor will give me the time of day, but it's not gonna work. She has this misconception that I want her life, that I want to be just like her. Maybe that life is good enough for my sisters, but that's not what I see for myself. If I wanted to be with someone who treated me like my opinion didn't matter, I never would've left home in the first place.
When I was younger, I believed she genuinely thought she was doing what was best for us. But the older I’ve gotten, the more I have grown to have a mind of my own. The moreI've come to understand that no one should ever treat another person like their views don't matter, especially not a parent or a partner.
“So you’ll be there, of course,” my mother says. I have no clue what she’s talking about, but apparently I have no choice but to attend.
“Fine. When do I need to be where?” I ask, nervously running my hands down my floral sundress. As much as I hate wearing dresses, I hate shopping for clothes even more. Put me in a bookstore and I can get lost for hours, but I’ve let my mother fill my wardrobe for as long as I can remember. With the exception of my favorite yoga pants and the countless t-shirts I’ve collected from environmental causes I support, my closet looks like Barbie’s wet dream.
“Honestly, Magnolia. Do you ever pay attention?” My mother sighs and I roll my eyes. The ability to guilt has always been strong with this woman. “The estate at 7 tonight. Please make sure you look presentable.”
She hangs up without another word, and I huff out an annoyed breath. I’ve always despised the way she refers to my childhood home as the estate. It’s not like we’re the Kennedy’s, for Christ’s sake. I know she only does it because it makes her feel important. Most days, I genuinely feel sorry for my mother. It must be so exhausting to need other people’s approval and validation that desperately. But then I remember, as much as I don’t want to, I crave hers just as much.
Smoothing my hands down the front of my navy blue bouffant dress, I pull the inside of my cheek between my teeth, chewing nervously. Staring up at the heavy oak and iron doors of myparent’s house, I wish I could be absolutely anywhere but here. This place has always felt so cold to me, completely void of real familial love every time my mother is inside it. All of my best childhood memories were spent with my dad on a surfboard, or at the house in Holden Beach. This mansion is a beautiful gilded prison, and I’m grateful every day that I moved out, even though my mother raised ten kinds of hell over it. My apartment in town is perfectly suited to me, and I love the independence it gives me.
Before my hand connects with the wood, the door swings open. My dad’s dark green eyes mirror my own as his warm smile welcomes me in. I will always come back to this place, without hesitation, because of this man.
“Magpie! I’ve missed you so much, my girl,” he says, pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug. There’s nobody on this planet I love more than my dad. Nobody who loves me as much as this man does. No matter what I’ve endured from my mother over the years, I’d do it all over again for him.
“Hey, dad. I missed you, too! But I was just here on Wednesday. It’s hardly been 48 hours,” I tell him, rolling my eyes at his exaggerated excitement.
“That’s 47 and a half hours too long, Mags. I’m sure your mother is going to bring it up over dinner, but I want to spend the Fourth of July at the beach house this year. I’m standing on the edge of retirement and I’m ready to start enjoying the time I have to spend with my girls again. Think you can swing it?” He asks, guiding me through the foyer and into the formal dining room.
“I’ll see what I can do, dad. It shouldn’t be a problem.” I give him a genuine smile, the one I rarely show anyone else.
“I’m sorry in advance about tonight, Magpie. You know how your mother is,” he grumbles, his voice low enough only I can hear. I’m confused for only a moment before we step through the doorway and I see the reason for his apology.
Aaron Montgomery, the son of my mother’s best friend, and the cause of at least fifty percent of my childhood trauma, sits at the table next to my mother. This man tortured me from the time we were old enough to speak. I still remember him calling me “the great white whale” every day for an entire summer when we were seven.
I’m not blind or naïve. I’ve never been a small girl. But I was just a little kid. The highlight of my summer that year was my sister, Ivy, punching him in the nose when she overheard him picking on me. She swore it was an accident, even convinced our mother she was swatting a bee.
“Ah, Magnolia. Nice of you to join us,” my mother chastises. I’m not sure why. I’m fifteen minutes early.
