Page 93 of Sunflower Persona
“I guess this is goodnight, then,” I say, making no actual move to leave.
“Goodnight, Kori.” He cups my face and gives me one last smoldering kiss before he steps away.
“Goodnight,” I mumble, my mind still reeling with need.
The door latches with a softclick, and only then do I let the whispered “I love you” slip out.
Chapter 29
Gage
After twenty-four hours with the Wrights, three things have become painfully clear.
One: Mrs. Wright—Jen—is the worst cook I’ve ever encountered. That hasn’t stopped me from eating everything she’s put in front of me. I know better than to let perfectly good food go to waste.
Two: If you looked up “loving family” in the dictionary, a picture of the Wrights would be there.
Three: I am so far out of my league here, it isn’t even funny.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the cookie-cutter manifestation of the American dream—all that’s missing is the white picket fence. Just being in a house like this has had me on edge since we pulled up. I keep expecting her parents to kick me out or accuse me of stealing shit, but her mom has been nothing but welcoming. Her dad, on the other hand…
Well, I wouldn’t want my daughter dating me either.
The easy chatter around the table comes to a lull as dinner ends. Not that I had much to contribute to the conversation to begin with, but I’m more than content to watch my woman lightup with the bubbly exchange. Under the table, her fingers are woven between mine. All night, she’s kept them there, giving me a gentle squeeze every so often while still engaging with her parents. Eating the leathery steak with my left hand was hard but worth it. She’ll always be worth it.
Marcus gets up from the table first and starts to clear away the mess of mostly full dishes.
“Dad, do you need help?”
“No, I need your help finding those scrapbooks,” her mom replies.
“Do we have to? I’d rather do the dishes.”
“I’m sure Gage would really like to see them. Isn’t that right?” she asks as she gets up too.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kori’s face pinches into an adorable scowl. I mimic the look and place a kiss on her temple before untangling my hand from hers. She tries to keep the stern look, but a smile pulls at her lips and her eyes dance with mirth.
“Go help your mom,” I command, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear it.
“Yes, Coach,” she rasps, giving me a sultry smirk, and follows her mom out of the room, swaying her hips with every step. It takes every ounce of willpower for me not to give in to the impulse to smack those perfect cheeks.
Wordlessly, I follow her dad into the kitchen and help with the cleaning. We work in tandem without a sound, and it’s not until the last of the mess is cleared away that he speaks.
“Do you drink?”
“Yes.”
“Whisky?”
“I’m not picky.”
He gestures for me to follow him and leads me down the hall into his office. The cluttered space is a mirror of the chaos thatis Kori’s room. His desk is the only semblance of order, with its many monitors and meticulously wrangled cables. The rest is filled with mementos of the years that have passed. Mrs. Wright doesn’t need to find the photo albums, because there are more than enough pictures in here for me to piece together every stage of Kori’s life. Various DC Comics memorabilia—from framed comics to collectible figures—are sprinkled in throughout the personal effects.
He opens up a cabinet and pours a generous two fingers from a glass decanter that’s etched with the bat symbol.
“Sit. Let’s talk,” he says as he hands over the similarly etched glass—this one Superman.
