Page 75 of Maddox
Now, he’ll never look at me the same way again.
Fuck me.
The ride home is silent while I tap my fingers against my thigh and wish that I was anywhere but in the fucking car with Maddox.
Of course, when we pull up, Joey’s sitting in his lawn chair, drinking a beer at eight o’clock in the morning.
With my humiliation complete, I pause with my hand on the door when Maddox says, “That your pops?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze.
“What’s his name?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” he says. “Princess?”
“Yeah?” I whisper, glancing up.
Gone is the heat that sent me over the edge. In its place is an emotion that I don’t recognize as he says, “You’re so beautiful.”
Although a thrilling compliment, I’ve heard this before, and I sit frozen as he brushes his fingers through my hair.
When his deep, dark eyes search mine, I whisper, “But…?”
His lips quirk before he brushes them against mine, carefully, gently, coldly.
With a shiver, I pull back and his eyes move over my shoulder as he says, “Go.”
Unfortunately, I stumble when I try to get out of the car and push the door closed behind me.
Maddox doesn’t so much as glance my way though as he backs out of the drive, and when I look at Joey, I see they’ve locked eyes.
A new chill rushes through me while I approach Joey and hope to my bones that these two don’t somehow recognize each other.
“I thought I told you I don’t like you hanging with those…those.” He waves his arm around and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I already have a headache forming after an awkward ride home. Nothing says kill me now like having the hot as fuck guy you pushed away by admitting you’re a virgin then drive you home to meet this asshole in his fucking underwear.
Translation: I’m not in the mood to deal with Joey.
“You know what he is?” Joey grunts and I pause at the door.
“Do you?”
Once again, his eyes flicker before he takes a slurp of his beer and says, “Course I do. Everyone ‘round here does.”
“I’m surprised considering you never leave that fucking chair.”
“Careful, missy,” he growls.
Shrugging, I say, “Or what old man? How about I don’t believe you and I’m tired of being lied to.”
“I ain’t your fucking dad. Don’t you get it?”
“I know you’re a fucking drunk. Maybe you don’t fucking remember,” I spit, waving my hand.
“Fuck me. You really are stupid.”
