Pier Pressure Read Online Anyta Sunday

Categories Genre: Funny, M-M Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
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He leans closer and I push myself back with my palm, a barrier between me and all that haunted me last night. “The floor’s wet. Go out . . . onto the couch, or better, hide in your study.”

I use the mop to sweep him out of the room and shut the door behind him with a bone-deep sigh. Craaaap. I squeeze the mop in one hand and his soggy towel in the other, then I kick off the study door, dunk the mop into the bucket and create a nice wet moat around the area.

Damon opens the door and leans against the frame, one arm casually above his head, his fingers tapping against wood. Of course.

He takes in the moat. Me. His posture is all . . . what’s going on, hmm?

I fling my gaze elsewhere.

He laughs. “It’s fine. Just watching you gets me hot.”

“I’m drawing you a bath.”

“Of milk? For my delicate skin?”

Delicate my arse. He has the thickest skin I’ve ever seen.

“I meant a cold bath,” I throw back. “With ice. It’ll be good for you.”

“I’m already blue, babe.”

I am trying . . . really hard . . . to keep my lips from twitching. “Go read a book.”

He smirks and struts back into the study, and for five good seconds I can breathe again until, once more, Damon robs me of the ability. I explode into shivers. Cold, spooky ones.

I flash to the figure in black, streaking across the yard; the balaclava. The letter Damon ripped up into the ocean. Damon’s arsonist.

“By the way, did I thank you for alphabetising my books?”

It’s a strange way to spike fear into someone, putting their books in order. But it’s creepy. Psychological torture. Little things out of place. Taunting the victim, making them doubt themselves, making them wonder what might come next . . .

I jab the mop in Damon’s direction. “One of these days we’re going to be murdered in our bed!”

“I’ll never let that happen to you.”

“You’re sleeping next to the door from now on. They can get you first and I’ll run away.”

Damon smirks. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“We should call the police.”

“No. I’ll handle it.”

Like he’s managed oh-so-well before? I press my head against the end of the mop and whimper.

Damon walks right through my moat, tosses the mop to the floor and wraps his arms around me. “I promise it’s nothing.” A tiny frown creases his brow.

Not nothing.

I pretend I’m cool with it if Damon is, and when he leaves for a morning walk along the pier with Mar I zip to the tea rooms. The thing is, I don’t really want to use him as a human shield. I’d quite like if he stayed in one piece, a constant flirtatious presence in my life . . .

God, I still have to tell him.

I push that aside for now. This arsonist problem-thing is more important to get sorted, and if it happens to double as procrastination, so be it.

Troy is flushed from a busy morning, and when he calls for Hailey to take over I jump in and drag him outside. Cool breezes have a pretty stunning effect on his hair, whipping it about in a cute, chaotic way. The tired lines around his eyes remain, though.

“What’s up, Leon,” Troy asks, observing me closely. He frowns. “This is about Damon, isn’t it?”

I nod vigorously and open my mouth to explain but he’s quicker and cuts me off.

“I’m sorry. I tried to warn you this would happen.”

“Warn me?”

“I really hoped maybe I was wrong. He’s been happier, lately. Since you moved in.”

He thinks I’ve fallen for Damon and had my heart crushed. I pat my chest. “Oh no, he hasn’t crushed this yet. I’m here about the arsonist.”

Troy is momentarily perplexed. “What?”

I’m rather relieved that whatever Damon’s keeping to himself, no one else is privy to it. Only, who does Troy think the Blond Brute is, then? Has Damon constructed some other story around their animosity? “Who is that blonde brute that keeps coming here? Damon goes wild whenever he shows up.”

Troy looks past patrons clumped around patio tables towards the sand dunes and tussock. He runs a hand through his hair. “Leon, if you’re thinking he’s the arsonist, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“How can you know that?”

He moves to a bench along the wall and slumps onto it. I perch beside him, my knee bouncing in anticipation.

“Damon keeps him away from here for my sake.”

My knee stops moving. “What?”

“That blond brute as you call him . . . he’s got nothing to do with Damon. That’s about me.”

“You?”

A sigh. “I asked Damon not to say anything. To anyone. I hoped I could just forget about it. And he’d eventually forget about me. That goddamn infuriating”—his voice breaks—“man. He’s the reason my marriage is breaking apart.”


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