Page 80 of Mischievous Lies

Our breaths are shaky as he continues to lazily kiss me like we have all the time in the world. I cup his jaw as I look up at him, realizing I’m a sucker for him.

“I love you too, Hawke,” I tell him, and he breaks out in a shit-eating grin as he spins me, almost slipping on the wet tiles as if forgetting where we are.

Images of him being in this very shower, slipping in oil, come to mind, and I throw my head back laughing. I’ll never not love this man because he’s entertaining, at the very least.

“You better not be thinking about the oil incident,” he growls as he places me gently on my tippy-toes and I wrap my arms around his neck, looking up at him sweetly. It’s answer enough, and he rolls his eyes, trying to hide his smirk.

He leans down to press a kiss on my lips and he says, “It took you long enough, lover. I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

CHAPTER 48

Ivy

“You’re dating who?” my father demands the next day as he storms into my apartment, acting as if he’s been betrayed. The object of his anger is currently asleep in my bed, but I don’t think my father is ready to hear that news.

“Who told you?” I ask, letting out a huff as my mother comes in and presses a kiss to my cheek. My father is acting like a diva, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Word gets around, Ivy. You kids suck at keeping secrets. Especially when you’re sitting on that ape of a man’s lap every chance you get.” I roll my eyes, and my mother seems to find it amusing. “So, were you planning on telling me?” he asks as my mother places down the plate of food she brought in. I can see bacon, pancakes, and bread, and there are more than likely other options as well. My parents often drop by with food when they’re in town. It’s finally registered that almost everyone around me has been supplying me with food. Even Hawke’s gotten into the habit. I don’t notice it myself in the moment, but when I get hyper fixated on something, I lose my appetite and sense of time.

Not that I don’t eat; I love to eat.

“I was planning on telling you when I saw you next,” I tell him, helping my mother with the food. The corner of her mouth turns up when she notices I grab four plates instead of three.

“So, what are you?” he demands.

“A thing,” I say cryptically, just to mess with him. I chuckle, as the term has the same effect on him as it did when Hawke kept saying it to Ford.

My father licks his lips and runs his hands through his hair as if in panic. I get he never liked Hawke, but this is dramatic even for him. But I guess there’s something in it when they say Daddy’s little girl.

“Okay. Is it serious?” he asks at the same time Hawke walks out of my bedroom without a shirt on, his chest on full display, including all the cuts and bruises from yesterday.

“It’s serious,” Hawke says with a smirk, and my father swings around to face him, gobsmacked that the devil should appear when summoned. I’m just thankful he has pants on.

My mother goes to Hawke, and he pulls her in for a hug before she says, “I brought food. It’s on the table.”

“Alina, we are having a serious discussion here. Don’t distract the man with food,” Dad says, self-imploding, but we all work around him, ignoring his dramatics.

My mother can’t hide her smile, and I almost feel bad for my father as we all take a seat, trying not to snort and laugh at his reaction.

“Okay, let’s eat,” Mom announces, and Hawke wastes no time loading his plate full of food. I’m certain my mother brought over extra today because she’s well aware of how much he likes to eat. I’m not surprised that she assumed he’d be here. My father might be the tracker, but my mother has always had this… sense of knowing that I’ve never quite understood. It’s probably what my father gravitates toward because she’s the only one who can keep him in check.

My father grumbles his displeasure as he takes a seat at the table, piercing a piece of bacon as he glares at Hawke, who comfortably threads his fingers through mine and places our joined hands on the table as if to make a point. A vein in my father’s temple pulses as he glares at our hands, and I know Hawke is purposely grating on his nerves. They’ve always been like this. Maybe it was my father’s intuition that I’d always end up with Hawke.

“So it’s serious, then. Has he also moved in?” Dad asks as Hawke puts a piece of bacon into his mouth.

“No, of course not. He just stayed the night,” I say, trying ever so slightly to bring my father back from the imaginary ledge.

“I did ask you again last night to move in with me, though,” Hawke reminds me casually. My father’s eyes widen, and my mother ‘oohs’at his words.

“I said no,” I tell my father. I don’t want him to have a heart attack.

“It’s okay. I’ll keep working on her.” Hawke stuffs his face with some bread and smiles. “She knows I’m the one for her, and I’m not letting her go.”

“Do I?” I ask, raising a brow at his cocky arrogance.

“It’s love, what can I say?” He chuckles, and I shake my head as I look away, trying to remind myself that my parents are in the room.

“I’m happy for you both,” Mom finally says as she grabs my father’s hand and squeezes it. “We both are.”

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