Page 21 of Breaking Conviction
It wasn’t until she was turning onto the main street that she finally looked in the rearview mirror.
Wes was still standing under the light, watching her, worry etched in his face, his hands on his hips in a superhero pose.
Superman, that’s what Nora called him and Thea liked to pretend he was a king. But Naomi’s life wasn’t a stupid comic movie, or a silly fairy tale, and Wes sure as hell was no damn hero.
He was the villain in this story, plain and simple. Hehadto be. If she didn’t pull her shit together, lock these frivolous feelings down in a deep, dark cave and throw away the key, he’d get her killed in a heartbeat.
Chapter Eight
Dean Jones stumbled into the laundry room from the garage and pressed the key fob to his white Corolla to lock it. Once the horn beeped, he jammed his keys back in his pocket and let the door slam behind him. The loud shake throughout the house made him wince as he realized it was late enough that Thea was likely asleep.
Shit.
He propped himself against the washing machine to gain his bearings before swiping his face to try to see past the spins. The sickly sweet smell of booze and another woman’s perfume stained his palm and he held his breath, eyeing the sink from the laundry room’s open door before glaring at the open door itself.
She never closes that shit, even though I’ve told her a million times she’s lettin’ the hot air in. Goddamn disrespectful. Dad woulda tanned my hide if I’d been so careless.
Dean shook his head and immediately regretted it as the very air around him seemed to wobble. Trying his best to ignore his disorientation, he staggered to the kitchen sink, pinballing against the counter, the refrigerator, and the breakfast table along the way.
He set the water temperature to scalding to clean off the evidence of his night out with the boys. Tonight, he’d let things go a little too far with the floozie near the pool table. They’d only gotten a little handsy with each other, though, so at least he hadn’t been unfaithful. She’d been hot as hell, too. He deserved a goddamn medal after turning down her offer for a quickie in the bar bathroom.
There was a time when he wouldn’t have even thought twice about giving a woman like her the fuck of her life. But, ever since he proposed to Naomi he’d been on his best behavior. As far as he was concerned, screwing around pre-proposal didn’t count and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
It’d definitely been tempting though, especially since he’d taken the time out of his boys’ night to call his ungratefulfiancée, and she’d blown him off repeatedly. On the other hand, the woman at the bar had been making eyes at him all night. When was the last time Naomi had ever looked at him like that? Had she ever?
He couldn’t remember, and what sucked even more was that he was no doubt going to have to put up with Naomi’s prudish bullshit for a little while longer. Not too much, though. A man had needs, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with his blue balls.
The last time he’d flirted with Naomi, she’d curled up into a ball and laid there like roadkill, insisting she wasn’t in the mood. His own woman had told him noagain, but then she’d had the audacity to act like the victim and make him out to be some kind of goddamn villain. It’d pissed him the hell off. The woman had grown up too soft. She wouldn’t know a villain from a hero if it could save her life.
He brought his hands up to see if he could still smell the woman on him, but his senses were too dull from the alcohol. There was a full bottle of hand dish soap, the fucking fancy kind she always bought like they were made of money. The shit went down the drain, for chrissakes. Why did she always insist on spending money on brand-name soap, of all things? The thought made him irritated with her all over again, so he squirted enough on his hands to coat him from finger to forearm.
The light turned on, making him realize he was washing his hands in the dark like a crazy person.
“Dean?”
The object of his frustration was leaning against the hallway doorjamb as she rubbed her eyes. Half the time, she annoyed him nearly as much as he loved her, but fuck was she sexy all the goddamn time. Even after obviously just waking up with yellowed bruises still fading around her cheek.
He wished she’d stop washing her makeup off at night. It made him sick to his stomach to see the evidence of their last disagreement all over her face. She probably did it just to make him feel guilty.
Mission accomplished.
Still, the rest of her was smoking, with her thin cotton shirt showing off her peaked nipples. It was only barely long enough to conceal her cunt. His dick managed to twitch to life despite the beer in his system.
“Yeah, sweets, it’s me.” He turned back to the sink, mad at himself all over again for being too faithful to cheat and too picky to just take what was his. But he’d learned real quick that fucking Naomi when she wasn’t in the mood wasn’t much better than going at it solo. The latter always ended up being less of a hassle, too.
“You been drinkin’?”
He paused, washing his hands before answering her. “Yes. You know I went out with the guys. I ain’t a choirboy. I’mma have a drink or two.”
“Right, sure. Sorry. Did you, um… did y’all have liquor or beer?”
“Beer. What’s with the twenty questions, Naomi? I’m a goddamn adult.”
“Sorry, sorry. I was just a… just wonderin’ is all.”
Placated by her answer, he nodded before shutting off the water and drying his hands.
“Sorry if I woke you up. You finished watchin’ that show with Thea?”
