Page 52 of Nothing Without You
But Christian ingreysweatpants was a recipe for wet underwear and a vibrator.
Which would unfortunately have to wait until nighttime.
“Adelaide,” he addressed me with a tilt to his head.
“Christian.” I rasped. Seriously?Drink some water,gargle, stop acting like you’ve never seen a well-bred man before.
His eyes darkened and if I wasn’t mistaken, hands tightened on the door. Annoyance lingered beneath the shadows of his gaze. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get down on my knees and suck him off or strip solely for his pleasure.
Neither of which would be happening now or ever.
I was becoming a horny idiot around him.
While he was sleeping around with beautiful women.
Umaima cleared her throat, eradicating the air of thick tension.
“Oh-kay, I’m getting hives just by staring at you.”
“Hello,” lips curved from the boisterous sound. Osama gently moved Christian aside and widened the door. “Welcome to my humble abode!”
Umaima rolled her eyes, walking inside. “Great, consider mehived.”
“What did I do?” Osama gawked after her like she owned the place.
Umaima had that kind of impression no matter where she went.
“Exist, maybe?”
“This is like our second time meeting, why do you hate me?” He put a hand to his heart. “Is it because I have longer hair than you?”
“It’s exactly that,” she deadpanned. “Your hair gives me rashes.”
“She’s mean,” he said to me before disappearing into another room.
Tingles ran down my spine when I stepped through the door and Christian’s arm brushed mine.
The entryway led into a circular foyer where the ceiling was adorned with a dramatic chandelier. Below it was a wooden table with—there was no way—a clay statue of Qaid-e-Azam’s face. Except half of his face was lopsided.
On one side, the open concept led to an enormous kitchen and whatever was cooking in there smelled phenomenal.
On the other side of the table—a living room—where the so-called gang had taken their stop. The room looked like a kid threw up in it. Pinks and yellows and blues. I think I entered the set of The Doodlebops.
“Osama, stop harassing my sister.” Hasan sat on the floor cross-legged and grim as usual. In front of him, Yunus stacked Lego blocks on top of each other. His adorable face scrunched up in concentration.
“She’s the oneharassingme,” Osama whined.
Umaima snickered while slumping down on the couch closest to Hasan. “Is that how you refer to mindless conversation?”
Osama exasperatedly gasped, “You… I…Wow.”
“This is for you, by the way.” She slid the box across the glass table in between. “Don’t overthink it, I bought it from a garage sale.”
Osama’s face visibly brightened. “Sure, I believe you.”
She rolled her eyes, but a slither of a smile creased her face like fresh madeleines coming out the oven. It was the type that made you cover your face to make it seem like you weren’t smiling.
Where’s Christian?
