Page 80 of Pitiful Lies

“Alright, here’s what Ms. O’Doyle is offering us to officially partner up with her,” Luc begins, and yeah, I know I should be paying attention, but I’m not.

My mind is elsewhere. Specifically, it’s back in my condo where I left Giselle this afternoon, all spent and sweaty. Sprawled out across our bed, the sheets in a perfect state of dishevelment at her feet.

Our bed.

Fuck.

I really like the sound of that, but the woman keeps bringing up looking for her own place like she thinks she can’t stay with me.

I want her to.

Can I do that? Can I just keep her?

I mean, I don’t see the problem. But the woman avoids the topic like it’s got cooties.

Even without the sex, and let me tell you, the sex is fucking incredible, we get along. I enjoy talking to her, laughing, watching movies, taking her out, spoiling her. Even cooking together is a good time.

The things that come outta her mouth. Jesus Christ. She is so goddamn delightful. I mean, she thinks about things I never even considered.

She’s smart. Like really smart. Curious about everything. And she is not afraid of a fucking thing.

Not a big oaf like me, that’s for sure.

I like her. I really like her.

Shit.

That sounds stupid. But I think it might be important.

I know Giselle isn’t some stray kitten I picked up off the street. And no matter how badly I want her to stay with me, I am going to have to give her more than I have been.

Shit.

My feelings aren’t something I talk about very often. I mean, I’m the head Enforcer for one of the most formidable gangs in the tri-state area.

I don’t exactly wax poetic on the regular.

But if it means keeping her with me?

I’m willing to try. And isn’t that a fucking stunner?

Of course, we’re beyond attracted to each other. I can’t keep my fucking hands off her, and just thinking about it makes me hard.

Hell, she’s just as insatiable as I am. And it’s sexy as fuck.

“Angel,” Nico interrupts my wayward thoughts, and I flick my gaze to my cousin’s.

Luc’s already left the office, and I didn’t even fucking notice.

“What?” I ask.

“Boston. It’s this weekend.”

Fuck. I forgot all about that.

“This weekend?” I repeat, but I know my cousin didn’t fucking stutter.

“You got a problem with that?” he asks, and the fucker is smirking at me.

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