Page 379 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“Drive safe.”
“I will. Don’t forget my birthday cake request!”
His birthday cake request tugs at my lips. He requested pink frosting so that I could share it with him.
God, he really is perfect.
Around an hour later, I unlock the door, ready for Ambrose to come home. The weather has returned to its usual state of heavy rain and darkening clouds.
Please be safe, I think to myself as I stare out the window.
The sound of footsteps moving through the reading room encourages a sigh of relief from me.
“I’m glad you’re home safe. I was getting worried about the weath?—”
I move to the door, and an aroma of heavy alcohol and cheap cologne burns my nose. It isn’t Ambrose and the spicy scent he left with, but Shane, here in the reading room.
“We need to talk.”
We don’t. I have nothing left to say.
My eyes fly to the clock on the wall.
It’s 6:02 p.m.
Ambrose’s appointment ended about ten minutes ago.
A beer can crunches between Shane’s fingers. He doesn’t usually drink during the day, but I know this isn’t his first drink today.
The can flies through the air and bounces off the shelf, too close to where my new unicorn sits.
Minutes pass, and he’s yet to say a thing to me. His ass is perched on my red velvet chaise lounge. His body denting it, his dirty clothes may be staining it.
Who even cares anymore?
I could call him in here, tell him again that this—us—is over, and has been since that day I found the messages, but a small fear inside begs me to take things slowly now that he’s in my house.
“Did you need something?” I ask cautiously.
He laughs, red eyes finding me. I dip my head, avoiding his gaze, and he mistakes that for shame.
“You should be ashamed. Fucking your brother is disgusting enough. I hope you used protection. No, I hope you catch what he has.”
“You need to leave.”
“Why? For calling you out for being your brother’s whore?”
Bubbles’ tail whips me from behind as she steps up to my side. Her lips hike, revealing a full set of sharp teeth, and a growl emanates from her.
“If that mutt touches me, I’ll have her put down.”
Hooking her fingers through her collar, I guide her through the kitchen. “Go on, girl.”
I point, asking her to go into the den. She refuses, moving only to a corner of the kitchen. Beady eyes stay on Shane as he steps into the room.
Putting on a brave front, I continue with what I was doing before he arrived, arching over and piping more frosting to the edges of my cake. Body aches have taken me hostage, so my movements are slower than I’d like. And I’d really like this done and the cake moved to somewhere safe from his anger.
“I thought I smelled something sweet. I assumed it was you.” Shane’s voice enters my ear over my shoulder. He’s about to defile my beautiful cake with an unwashed finger while delivering cringy compliments that he doesn’t even mean.
