Page 181 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
Hercules goesoff to find napkins. He’s soon back with a gob of napkins, along with a package of moistened wipes.
I use napkins to clean my cookies and cream off the ground, and put them in the trash near us. “Where did you get all of this? You scored the motherlode.”
“The girl at the ice cream booth gave them to me.”
“Ah,” I say.
“Why ‘ah’?” Hercules asks, wiping his sticky hands.
I chuckle. “She couldn’t keep her eyes off you.”
“The guy working with her couldn’t stop looking at you.”
I jerk my head back while cleaning my hands. “What guy?”
“You didn’t see him?” he says, feigning shock.
I throw a wad of wipes into the trash. “No.”
Hercules shakes his head. “Poor guy. She didn’t even see you…”
I laugh as I nudge his shoulder.
Finally, we’re all clean, and Hercules steps in front of me. In a daze, I gaze up at his handsome face.
“Paisley, how about we go back to your place and, um…”
My sex is throbbing, begging me to say yes. “I can’t,” I whisper.
“I’m not marrying her.”
“Then ask me again, when you’re no longer engaged to her.” Suddenly, Marigold Valentine comes to mind, and I jump abruptly as I squeeze his rock-hard biceps.Damn. I shouldn’t have done that.All I want now is his strong body on top of mine.
“Oh right…” I’m so horny, I almost forgot. “Your mother.”
His frown deepens. “What about her?”
“I did some digging. You should know something.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Watching Her
Hercules Valentine
On the walk back to Paisley’s apartment, she tells me everything. The fact that my mother doesn’t have solid history doesn’t surprise me. My mother operates as if she’s hiding something. I can never get a straight answer from her on just about anything. Whenever she speaks, her words are practiced, careful. From my experience in the world, people who present themselves the way she does are always hiding something. I’m disappointed, though. Every day, I wake up wanting Marigold to prove me wrong. Maybe I’m angry that she hasn’t.
No…I shake my head, glaring at the road ahead. It’s not anger that I feel. It’s clarity.
When we reach Paisley’s apartment, my boner is long gone. The fastest way to kill my sexual desire is to have to think about Marigold’s shit. There’s always something, some angle to acquire more money, more prestige—a lot more of everything for a lot less or nothing at all.
I rub the side of my face, staring at the road but only present enough to keep from running a light or causing a traffic accident. Chris, my father, is in town. He’s been calling me every day, but I’ve been ignoring him. He’s left messages asking if I’ll have dinner with him before he flies back to his tropical island. I rub my five-o’clock shadow. I should take him up on that offer.
Yeah… I’ll do that.
Later That Night
My father agreed to meet me for dinner. “It must be fate,” he said. His flight to Barbados takes off tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.
