Page 62 of Manhattan Secret
We’ll burn hot and bright for as long as it lasts and then somehow, I’ll let Lachlan Fierro go to his new life while I mend my broken heart.
What started as some wild, crazy fun has suddenly morphed into this all-encompassing emotional being.
Too late to back out.
I’m already in love with my student.
And the only way to fix it, is to break his young heart eventually.
And my own.
C H A P T E R 17
Lachlan
“Not seeing your Mrs tonight?”
“Shut up,” I warn Ethan, shoving him into the booth at the pizza place we hung out at sometimes. Riley’s head comes up instantly with her eyes narrowed. Avery sitting opposite with her is busy texting. Probably some piece of skirt. She’s as bad as I used to be for getting laid. The others joke we are the same person in different bodies.
“Who?”
“It’s no one. Ignore him, he’s drunk.” I roll my eyes and pick up a menu.
He is drunk and I’m about to smack the grin off his face.
“Who does he mean? Do you have a girlfriend? Why don’t we know?” After every question, Riley’s tone grows increasingly shrill and I won’t stand for that shit, she knows not to question me like I’m a dog.
I place the menu down and stare across at her with an eyebrow raised.
“Didn’t I just say it’s no one?”
Pointed chin in the air, she has pink cheeks like she’s ready to go apeshit right over my pizza pie. Fuck sake, I waited for my pie all day. Really am gonna kill Ethan.
Zander joins us then, squeezing in with the girls, he nudges Riley to move over, but she has the bit between her teeth.
“He said it for a reason. Who is she?”
“Chill out,” Avery says, not looking up from her phone.
“Who is who?” Zander asks.
“Lachie has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to tell us about.”
“Oh my god, Riley. I was fucking around. Climb the fuck down off his dick for a second, will you?” Burst Ethan, slamming his own menu down on the table hard enough to rattle it. “Doesn’t matter if he has a thousand chicks, he’s never gonna fuck you!”
Harsh, but true.
I’d rather be at home with my girl as sad as that sounds.
Me, the night owl, the guy who likes to prowl around town, getting into shit, going to bars until late, would prefer to be on my girlfriend’s couch listening to one of her silly stories she thinks is fucking hilarious. She’s one of those storytellers who starts to laugh at the punchline before she’s said it. It’s fucking adorable.
My girl is not a badass in the slightest.
In fact, the term good girl is coined for Delaney Sloan, but the way she whispers parts of her “bad girl” stories about staying out past 10 pm or drinking ONE beer in her daddy’s garage, she’s too fucking cute.
She nearly spit out a full glass of wine the night I told her how I earned my side-line money. “But…that’s illegal!” she exclaimed.
Fuck, she’s cute as a button and innocent as a lamb.
