Page 45 of Tiny's Law

Her innocence is killing me. So, instead of making her play the guessing game, I flat-out tell her, “I’ve already slept with her a few times, and I still want her around.”

Her eyes widen, and a triumphant smile breaks across her lips. “I love secrets,” she whispers, causing me to break out in laughter again.

“You guys sound like you’re having too much fun over here,” Flame calls as he moseys over, finished with his client.

Brenna smiles slyly at me like what we just discussed was on par with Homeland Security.

“Damn, baby. That is gonna be so sick,” says Flame as he squeezes her shoulders, eyeing up her progress on my arm.

“Thanks.” She blushes.

After another hour on my arm, we call it a night, and after cleaning and bandaging my arm, I wait around for them to clean up before we all head over to The Castle. Two nights in a row isn’t all too normal for me nowadays, but I’m not going to turn down a beer with Flame while Brenna works the bar.

It’s still early enough by the time we get to the club that Flame and I snag two stools in the center of the bar.

Pulling my phone out, I have to force myself to not click open the app on my phone that solely contains the system I installed at Kourtney’s.

Call me a fucking psycho, caveman, stalker, whatever you want.

Is it wrong in theory? Probably.

Should I only have access to this through the company? Probably.

Should I tell her that I have cameras in her room and every single part of her house accessible to view at any time I want right at my fingertips? Probably.

Should I tell her that, for the past week since I put them up, I have been watching her anytime she crosses my mind, which is a fuck ton? Probably.

Am I going to? Absolutely fucking not.

I can chalk it up to delusion and possession that I have the right to this because she’s the one who asked for the system, but that would be lying to myself. I’m not a liar.

I know damn well this is an invasion of her privacy. Fuck, she’s a goddamn lawyer. She could probably put my ass behind bars for this shit. Do I give a flying fuck?

Nope.

When Flame goes to the bathroom and Brenna is busy with a customer at the end of the bar, I find myself clicking on the red icon on my home screen.

Within seconds, Kourtney’s house fills my screen with all different views in small thumbnails. The room with current motion in it is highlighted, and I find myself clicking on it immediately.

I’m disappointed to find that the motion was just her big ass cat strolling into her room.

I smile at the big fucker. I never would’ve considered myself a cat guy, but dude’s pretty cool. Has huge balls on him too. Not just figuratively; his testicles are actually huge. Riley got a kick out of it that morning when the feline teabagged my arm.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head, and my jeans go tight as Kourtney strolls out of the bathroom at the corner of my screen, butt-ass naked as she saunters out of the room. Hurriedly, I click back to all the views of her house and follow along as she goes from room to room. Flipping through the different camera angles effortlessly, I’m blessed with multiple views of her delicious-as-fuck body. I’m patting myself on the back for going with the more expensive camera options, as the view of her is fucking incredible. There is not one shitty pixelated grain on my screen.

It’s truly chef’s kiss perfection.

I fumble my phone and quickly click out of the app just as Flame claps his hand on my back as he takes his seat again. Hopefully, he didn’t see my screen. Not for the fact that he would know I’m watching her like that, but if he would’ve seen her naked...

The thought of any other man seeing her naked makes my vision blur. My blood pressure rises, and I see red just from the thought of it.

I need to slow the fuck down. These feelings this woman is rising inside of me confuse the fuck out of me. I don’t know where they all come from, and it’s no secret that this shit is new to me. But fuck if I’m going to fight it.

“Hello?”

“Nathan Hayes,” my mom’s singsong voice breaks through the fogginess of sleep. Cracking one eyelid open, I turn to the alarm clock on my bedside and see it’s barely seven A.M. I huff out a tired breath and close my eyes again while greeting her.

“Morning, Mama.”

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