Page 60 of Wicked Me
18
Sam
“THESE THINGS HAPPEN,” Hill had said about the missing money.
That was pretty much all he’d said over the phone, but the tight, lethal way he said it made me think there was a little more to it than that. He mentioned something about the money being added to Rose’s debt, but didn’t give me any figures or timelines before he ended the call.
It made me seriously wonder if he was even keeping track of the deals I made for him. I doubted it. I could be working the debt off for the rest of my life, which would likely be shortened by a lot if I kept up my shitty luck.
Between Riley and I, we couldn’t scrape together enough cash to pay Hill back for the stolen money, not unless Riley skimmed some off the top of Dad’s upcoming presidential campaign. But from what it sounded like, there were already some shady dealings there. Something about illegal donations. Good old Dad.
Even if Riley could get the money, I doubted Hill wanted me to pay him back that way. Next time Hill was in a talkative mood, I would be sure to ask him. While we were at it, we could have a good heart-to-heart about our favorite Lifetime movies.
The worst he could do would be to say no. Actually, the worst he could do would be to kill me, but since I still had a pulse after I’d talked to him, I wasn’t going to worry about it until I needed to. What else could I do?
In the meantime, I thought about Paige. Everything I would like to do to her. Everything she had done to me.
Late Saturday morning, somewhere between sleep and consciousness, the memory of her lips wrapped around my cock bolted me upright in bed. No way had that really happened last night. No fucking way did she sneak into my bedroom to suck me off. Did she?
I’d had plenty of wet dreams starring Paige, but none of them had felt so real. And she hadn’t jilled herself off in any of them. I could still taste her on my lips when she tried to leave my bedroom, her eyes wide with a regret that had no right to be there. Ithadn’tbeen a dream.
I sat up in her bed. Humidity rolled from the open doorway of her bathroom, perking up my whole body with Paige’s sweet and spicy smell and the image of her naked in the shower. But the light was turned off. She must’ve gone downstairs.
I went across the hallway into my bedroom to the nearest pile of jeans, anxious to see her. I had a feeling the blush that would likely fire up when she saw me would put the one the morning after I drove my tongue into her to shame. Unless she still felt guilty about blowing me. In which case, I would find a way to convince her that what she did ranked right up there with such religious experiences as bacon and hearing the rev of a once-dead engine under my resurrecting hands.
She wanted me, even though she was miles better than me, was older and way more sophisticated, and was loads sexier than any girl I’d ever had. Me. Not my skank of a brother or some boring dude in a suit and tie.Me.
And wow, could she give head. That innocent librarian thing she had going on was a genius cover for the naughty streak inside.
I found her sitting at the island in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and staring at her phone which was playing that song by that British singer I always heard everywhere. Her still-wet hair hung in loose waves around her face, which was paler than usual, and there were dark circles under her eyes. It was her mouth that caught my eye, though, and not for obvious reasons. She had tightened it into the most determined line I’d ever seen on her, like she had just figured something out, or was trying to fight back a puke bubble.
“Hungover?” I asked.
That blush I’d been waiting for burned her cheeks when she met my gaze. She smiled down at her lap. So innocent and yetsonot.
“This is my second pot of coffee, so I'm feeling better,” she said, nodding. “Thank you for...putting up with me.”
“No problem.” I swept past her to the coffee maker. She must have been awake for a while because there was only a quarter of a pot left.
“And I’m sorry for...last night.”
Yeah, she’d mentioned that afterward, too. But from the sound of her voice, I couldn’t tell if she still felt guilty about it. After I poured myself some coffee, I decided it was time to find out.
“You mean you’re sorry for falling on my dick with your mouth?” I asked, then turned to see her reaction.
Her mouth fell open, then she snapped it closed again and blinked hard. The corners of her lips twitched upward. “Wow. How very blunt of you.”
“I accept your apology, but only if you don’t say you’re sorry again.”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and something lit up those dark eyes I’d never seen before. Appreciation? Something else?
“Agreed,” she said.
