Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“So? He doesn’t always know what’s best for him.”
“And you do?”
“Better than him. Yes.”
Aislin grins, and another authentic chuckle sneaks past my lips. They’re not supposed to be real. None of these things are supposed to be real.
Aislin and I hang out in her room for a couple of hours. I try not to let myself wonder where Tiernan is. Did he leave? What’s he doing? Why do I care?
When she’s hungry, we go downstairs to the kitchen. “I made soda bread if you want some.” She hands me a plate. “I bake and cook when I’m going through a lot.”
Her words remind me why we’re all here, of the motherfucker who would have hurt her if I hadn’t been there, and anger washes over me. “Tiernan should be taking care of that.”
“Not much he can do when we have no proof and didn’t go to the cops. We changed our minds that night.” She watches me as she speaks, like she’s trying to judge my reaction. A normal person would agree with her, and maybe that’s what I should do, but I don’t have it in me.
“So he can get away with it like last time? Fuck that.”
Aislin smiles. “You’re a surprise, Dean Smith.”
“I’m nothing,” I tell her.
She doesn’t react, just says, “Wash your hands and help me with dinner.”
And though I’ve never cooked with anyone except my mom, I do exactly as Aislin says.
*
We start by baking more bread, then make sausages and fried cabbage. Aislin is lively and talkative the whole time. She tells me Will has tried to contact her with an excuse as to why he stood her up, but when I ask if she’s going to meet up with him, she gets a far off look in her eyes and shakes her head, before changing the subject to something lighter.
When dinner is just about done, she flicks water at me from her glass and I chuckle, before wrapping my arms around her waist and playfully dragging her toward the sink. “Now you get your head dunked,” I tease.
Aislin fights me off, noes mixing with her laughter, until the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from behind us and I freeze.
Not because it’s Tiernan, but because of what I’m doing. How I’m joking with her and enjoying her, without even realizing I’m doing it.
I jerk away from Aislin.
“That was smart.” Tiernan walks over, his mouth close to my ear when he says, “If you want to play with someone, play with me.”
Blood rushes to my dick. I hate that I have this reaction to him, that he reaches me on such a powerful level. All this is such a mindfuck, and I don’t know how I’ll ever make it out in one piece.
“Yeah, but I’ve already had you.” I cock a brow.
“Let’s not pretend you won’t be begging for more. We both know whose bed you’ll be in tonight.” He walks to the stove, picks a bite of the food, and eats it. “And you’re lucky I know you don’t like women, or I’d cut your fucking hands off for touching my sister like that.”
“Wait. Aren’t we supposed to pretend to be normal around the new kid?” Rory walks into the kitchen.
“We are normal,” Aislin says.
“Brothers say shit like that about their sisters all the time.”
“Oh. Never had one,” Rory says. “I mean, Aislin is like a sister, and I’d cut your fucking hands off too, so I guess that works. But hey, good to see you, New Kid. I’m fuckin’ starving.”
Rory goes to the stove and begins scooping a mountain of food onto his plate. When he’s done, Tiernan does the same, a warm body stepping close to mine.
Aislin nudges me with her elbow. “You can eat.”
“You first.”
“I think your sister is trying to steal your boy.” Rory laughs.
“I’m not his boy,” I cut in. “And didn’t we just confirm I’m not into women? But if you wanna play…”
Rory’s head whips in Tiernan’s direction. “I won’t fuckin’ touch him. He’s just trying to piss you off.”
Which is true. And though I’d love a good ginger, I’m not down with fucking around with someone else close to Tiernan. This thing is already enough of a mess.
“I know.” He sits down. “My little fighter likes to play games.”
“And my little lord likes control.”
“You looked up my name.” He points at me with his fork, and I realize my mistake. He’s going to take that to mean more than it does, but then, maybe that’s a good thing. “I think you have a crush on me.”
“No. I hate you, but your dick’s all right.” I’m not sure if this back-and-forth is part of the game I’m playing with him or if I actually like it. And if I have to ask myself that question, that’s probably my answer.