Page 63 of A Convenient Secret
She sighs and follows. I walk to my desk and lean against it as I undo the top buttons of my shirt. Pulling the bow tie off, I put it in my pocket.
Lily enters and stays by the door. I’ve half a mind to eat the distance between us and fuck her against the door, her legs around my waist while her tits bounce in her large sweatshirt.
“Why doesn’t it surprise me you were in a debate club?” I chuckle.
She frowns. “What?”
I nod toward her and tap my chest to where her Stanford Debate Club logo is.
Puzzled, she looks at her jumper. “Oh, it’s not mine.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I was more of a cheerleader.”
Why do I again feel like she’s hiding something? “What happened today, Lily?”
“I would prefer not to talk about it. As I said, I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
I put my hands into my pockets because, at this point, I need any form of restraint when around her.
“I want to be sure you can take care of my kids if something like this happens again.” Not my proudest argument, but fuck, her secrecy pushes my buttons. More than her allure.
Her gaze flashes with anger, igniting a blush all over her face. “Really? You’re going to pull the safety of your kids card? That’s a low blow even for you.”
What does she mean, even for me? “You’re giving me no choice. You seem to have PTSD. You sleep with a knife.” As usual, I don’t even realize before I cross the room to stand in front of her.
“I was trapped in a room during a fire. Happy now?” She pants, and I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to her confession or to my sudden closeness.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” I guess it doesn’t explain everything, but seeing the glimmer in her eyes, I feel like an asshole.
At the same time, something awakens in me, and I have an overwhelming need to protect her.
“Is that all?” She gives me her bratty look, her chin high.
I’m a reasonable man. A man who prides himself on the level of control I exude. A man who speaks only when he has something to contribute.
None of those familiar attributes count when Lily is in my vicinity. With her, I’m a man who loses any sense of propriety or reason.
“It’s not all. Let’s talk about Zach. You’re not authorized to change his schedule, let alone let him ditch.”
“He wasn’t ditching. I allowed him to take a break. I encouraged him to talk to you.”
“I’ve just talked to him, and he will continue playing soccer.” My voice is unreasonably vehement. I’m not even sure why I’m arguing with her.
She jerks her head back. “He will?”
“Of course he will. He needed to be reminded of his commitment.”
She fucking rolls her eyes at me again. “Really? Did you ask him what he would like to do instead? Have you ever asked him what he wants to do? Or did you just schedule all the activities to keep them busy? To fill their time the way it suits you.”
“Don’t you dare challenge my parenting! You know nothing about our circumstances.”
“Don’t I? Because, sometimes, it feels like you make decisions to ease your burden. A selfish decision withoutconsidering their wishes.”
“You judge me? You’ve been here for three weeks, and you know better how to run my family?”
“Your family doesn’t need to be run. They need to be seen. They need to be heard. They need to know they can come to you when they have a problem.”
We glare at each other, panting. This seems to already be a wearily familiar situation. Her sweatshirt brushes my shirt. Her eyes glare with frustration.
The same frustration that is running through my veins. I want to strangle her, punish her, kiss her senseless.
