Page 98 of The Problem with Falling
Theo sat up straight in bed as if he were a dead body rising from a gravesite. He pointed a stern finger my way. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered.
“Ohhh, yeah! Yeah, right there!” I called out, moaning dramatically. “I love that, Theo!”
With haste, he tossed the pillow barrier to the side of the room and then straddled me. He placed one hand over my mouth, and I giggled as I wiggled around, trying to get from under his hold. He pinned one hand above my head. “Shhh!” he ordered, but I continued anytime I was able to slip my mouth from beneath the palm of his hand.
“Harder, harder, hard—” I started shouting, but before I could get the words out, the bedroom door flung open, and all I saw was Dad standing in the doorframe, with his big, broad frame.
Theo was right, he did look like a linebacker.
Dad’s eyes shot daggers straight to Theo, the straddling man.
Theo’s eyes widened with fear.
Rightfully so.
CHAPTER 33
Theo
Istood outside of another spare room in Michael’s house, hugging the pillow and blanket he’d given me after he kicked me out of Willow’s bedroom. I stood there in front of him, almost certain I was going to piss or shit myself any second now. Maybe I was going to do both.Pishit.I was going to pishit myself.
It amazed me how much I felt like a kid who got caught looking at his parents’ porn stash or something. I wasn’t even the guilty party! Willow was! I bet she was all snuggled up and cozy right now, hugging a pillow and giggling to herself. If I didn’t love her, I’d hate the woman.
But I did love her.
Fucking hell, did I ever.
Her and her ridiculously ridiculous self.
I cleared my throat. “Listen, Mr. Kingsley, I know it l-looked bad in there with m-me, uh, um, ah—”
“With you straddling my daughter?”
“Yeah. That.” I cleared my throatagain. “You see, Willow thought it would be funny to make inappropriate sounds even though I asked her not to do that, and she did that because she’s Willow and, well—”
“That’s enough talking. It’s late,” Michael stated, turning to walk away.
I felt as if I’d just swallowed a brick. “Good night, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.”
“Okay, si—er—Mr. Kingsley. Good night, Mr. Kingsley.”
“Good night, Bradley,” he replied, making my heart sink to the pit of my stomach.
The moment I walked into the bedroom, I shut the door and pounded my head against it.
Bradley?
I was officially on Mr. Kingsley’s hatred list due to his daughter and her witty sense of humor.
Pishit.
After a nightof little to no sleep, I woke up to the smell of coffee. As I pulled myself out of bed, I scratched the back of my neck and headed out of the room. I grumbled as I floated toward the smell. As I stepped into the kitchen, I saw Willow sitting on the countertop, tossing a piece of bread into her mouth and laughing loudly with a woman who looked like Willow. From what I remembered from the video call I interrupted a few months ago, that was Yara, the middle sister of the Kingsley family. She looked very much like her father.
To the right of the room was Michael and some guy who was unloading a basket with breakfast sandwiches. Then in darteda little girl, who ran straight into my leg, almost making me stumble. She ran right over toward the Willow lookalike and hid behind her leg.
“Mama, who’s that?” the little girl asked, peeking between Yara’s legs.
