Page 88 of The Auction
“Damnit!” I said, slapping my hands against the sheets, but not nearly as upset as I might have been. “How did you catch me?”
“Shows up as a separate line item on the bank statement.”
“Fuck. I’ve never seen a bank statement,” I mumbled.
“About that, I don’t like you being completely out of the loop on shit like that. We’ll sit down at some point and I’ll walk you through the financials of the operation.”
“What?” My brain couldn’t fathom it.
“Relax, I’m not prepared to give you my passwords. Unless you want to say right now that you trust yourself not to empty my bank account?”
Saying I wouldn’t take the money and run was like saying I was ready to commit to a lifetime of marriage to him. It went a little too far, despite the fact that we were now co-parents to Patch.
Oh, shoot. If I did run, I was going to have to take AP with me. That meant making sure I had a to-go bag for a cat.
“Yeah, I can see already, you’re planning on what you would do with the money. I’ll show you the books. Supervised. So in case anything happens to me-”
“What’s going to happen to you?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Anything. I fall off a ladder, a car accident…”
“You don’t feel safe climbing a ladder? You jumped out of planes, for Pete’s sake.”
He shucked out of his boxers, (and yes, I averted my eyes, even though at this point, I’d seen his junk before, had even touched it), and tossed them in the laundry. Bare ass naked, he walked over to the dresser and pulled out a clean pair of underwear, socks and a black t-shirt and tossed them on the bed.
He handed me AP, who I perched on my shoulder. The view wasn’t nearly as good, so he barely tolerated me, but it was either this or the bed.
Creed found his folded jeans, which were good for at least another wear before they hit the wash, on the bench at the bottom of our bed.
He looked at me while he stepped into them. “Jules, anything can happen. You should know that better than anyone. You lost both your mom and your dad.”
“I didn’t lose my mom. She ran off with some dude when I was a kid. I don’t think that counts like a car accident.”
“You ever try and find her?” Creed asked me.
“Nope. And no, I’m not going to therapy for mommy issues. So let’s move on.”
“My mom was…not a pleasant woman. I used to get mad about it, but the older I got, I realized she was always fucking hungry, drunk or hungover. Hard to win mother of the year award when you’re living in constant depravation. I wear the necklace…as a reminder not everyone is all bad or all good. I’m guessing your mom isn’t either.”
“Your mom didn’t leave you,” I pointed out.
Creed huffed. “Baby, there was nowhere for her to go.”
“So, you’re saying we both need therapy for our mommy issues?” I reached up and instinctively scratched AP under his chin.
“Nah. We got a cat. That should work fine.”
“Agreed. Now, let’s get back to this part about something happening to you and your fear of ladders.”
He smiled, in a way I was actually starting to think made him look not entirely ugly.
Bending down over the bed he braced his arms on either side of my hips. His face directly in front of me. Patch tookthe opportunity to climb on his back and down his ass to the bed.
“You worried about me, Jules? Don’t look, but that seems like a very wifely thing for you to do.”
I rolled my eyes and he kissed me. Then, like he liked it, he kissed me again. I reached my hand around the back of his neck and opened my mouth to his invading tongue. We hadn’t done this in weeks. The kissing part. The intimate stuff where he invaded my space, my mouth, and I let him.
He pushed into me and I leaned back on the headboard, my arms going around his shoulders to hold on to him. My breasts got tight. That part between my legs started to tingle. His hand lifted up under my shirt, his shirt, really, and cupped my breast. His thumb brushing against my now hard nipple. I wanted more pressure there.
