Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
After the toilet flushes, Layla gestures at the door and brings her finger to her mouth again. I’ve got no choice but to leave. As I creep down the hallway feeling like a thief, I know I won’t be able to resist her, not now that I’ve tasted her.
I need more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Layla
“It was a simple fix,” Miles says, standing on the other side of my car.
Noah stands between us, a mug of coffee in his hand, grinning at me and then at his big brother. Miles is wearing a shirt with stylish trousers and fancy shoes since he’s got a business meeting in the city. He cuts a dashing figure with his neat hair shining silver in the sun.
The memory of last night stabs at me. Most of all, I remember what we almost did, his manhood pushing against me and my body as if knowing how wrong it was, not letting him inside. If we weren’t interrupted, would I have told him the truth?
“My brother’s a man of many talents,” Noah says.
Yeah, I learned that last night.
My sex aches inappropriately, my center feeling sore and needy as if pissed at me for not taking it all the way.
“Thank you,” I say, finding it challenging to meet Miles’ eyes.
“It’s not a problem.”
“Right, then.” Noah takes a long sip of coffee. “Now that my brother has shown you his handiwork, I’ll grab some breakfast.”
He walks inside. Miles lingers for a moment, staring at me across the car with meaning in his eyes. I read the message clearly. He’s hungry to do it again but to go all the way this time. My anxiety throttles the thought. Even if it wasn’t for Mom and Noah, I might not be able to give him what he wants. He’s so big.
“Are you hungry, Miles?” Noah calls from the doorway.
“Sure,” he says, turning.
I watch him go, wishing I could kiss him goodbye or jog up behind him, run my hands over his back, and feel his throbbing muscles. As I drive to work, I’ve got far more road rage than usual, as if it’s the other drivers’ fault that I can’t stop thinking about my step-uncle.
I go to the staffroom to place my bag in the locker at work. At the end of the row, Graham’s locker is open. I don’t mean to look at it. Knowing Graham, he’ll freak if he finds out I’ve been snooping, but I can’t look away.
There’s a photo taped to the inside of the locker. It shows a younger Graham with a fuller head of hair, but definitely him. He’s standing in front of a lake, his arm thrown around a man—around Dad. I move closer, wondering if I’m hallucinating. Maybe the lack of sleep and guilt are turning my head funny, but no, that’s Dad. That’s his mop of brown hair and smile. Those are his glasses perched on his nose, the wire-framed ones that Mom teased him about before the drugs and the cheating.
“What are you doing?”
I spin to find Graham glaring at me. It’s just us in the room, the door closing behind him. He strides right up to me, his lip curling in disgust. “Looking for something to steal?”
“No, uh, that’s… This is going to sound weird, but that’s my dad in that photo.”
He looks sharply over my shoulder at the locker and then pushes past me. I have to step swiftly aside to stop him from barging into me.
He slams the locker shut. “I don’t think so.”
The response is so absurd that all I can do is laugh. “I know what my own dad looks like. That’s definitely him.”
“You must be mistaken,” he says stiffly. “Why would I have a photo of your dad in my locker?”
“That’s an excellent question.”
“It’s a stupid question,” he snaps. “You look tired.”
“Open the locker. Let me see.”
He steps forward, and for a second, I genuinely think he’s going to hit me. He stares as though he’d like nothing more.
“Your shift has started. Get to work.”
“But—”
“Are you determined to ruin my goddamn day, girl? Get. To. Work.”
I swallow, stepping backward, out of range of his abuse. With no other choice—and knowing Graham won’t tell me anything else—I leave the staffroom, relieved to be away from him, but he’s lying. I know he is. That was Dad.
I hate how awkward it is, being alone with Mom. We’re in the living room together, Miles in the city, and Noah at work. She’s working on a new hairstyle, leaning over the mannequin’s head and clipping away at the wig.
I’ve been waiting for the right time to bring up the Graham-Dad connection while wondering if I have the right. Wondering if I can ask her anything after what I did, nearly did, last night, but I can’t simply let it go.
“Something odd happened at work today.”