Page 43 of Painted Scars
She’s acting tough again. Flashing a sinful smile when she spots me under the lamplight. Flipping her hair, pretending last night didn’t rattle her. I see through it. The flick of her eyes scanning the dark. The slight tug of material at her neck. Sunshine masking the scar.
Kate: Come to get your thank you, Grumpy Daddy? Kiss or boob flash?
Goddamn flirt. I can’t tell if she’s reckless or testing me. That mouth will get her in trouble.
Me: I didn’t come for a thank you. I came to make sure you get home in one piece. And that should scare you.
Kate: What are you? A cop or something?
Fuck, too close.
Me: Go home. Now.
Kate: You promised me a ride, remember? I was a good girl and went to sleep after you sexted me to heaven.
She has me on that.
Me: No more bedtime stories with benefits when you’re a brat.
Kate: I’ll be another fifteen. Want to take me home? I’ve never been on a bike before. I’m All By Myself tonight and ready to go All the Way.
What’s with the capitals? I message Grayson to get him to analyze it.
Me: Check her last text. Could be a cipher.
Within thirty seconds he’s back to me.
Grayson: It’s a Celine Dion song.
Me: She’s quoting ballads now?
That’s new for the Romans, but I’m not surprised.
Grayson: You clearly missed her CD collection.
Jesus. I’m putting a ban on that. My ears don’t need to bleed.
I get back to the Glitter Brat.
Me: I said I’d get you home safely. Didn’t say you’d enjoy the ride.
Kate: You sound extra grumpy tonight. Here for it.
Meanwhile, my cock’s starting a mutiny at her brat side and quirky quotes.
Me: Why do you want to ride with a stranger? What if I’m secretly a murderer?
Kate: You’ve had ample opportunity to murder me. Now you’re obsessed with me. And I want to have some fun with a mysterious stranger who isn’t relationship material but sexts me filthy things and is incredible in bed.
Smart. Witty. My match.
Me: You texted filthy things. I want that on record.
For the record, my dick’s down for sex without strings.
Kate: In dark romance circles, threatening to kill my neighbor and sleazy boss is a marriage proposal. We’re now engaged Arranged marriage trope.
Great. I’ve been reduced to a trope. Grayson’s probably reviewing our interactions, and I won’t hear the end of this.
