Page 6 of The Gangster's Girl

“Be right back.” I walk away, going into the kitchen and I take a deep breath. There’s no need to get so worked up about a simple conversation. I’m overreacting and I shrug myself, walking over to the fridge to grab a soda but I don’t find one.

But I know that Clay keeps a stack in one of the cupboards and I want to pat myself on the back when I find a whole line of my favorite. Rising on my tiptoes, I reach for it, my fingers clasping in the air and I let out an annoyed sound when I can’t reach...

Another hand does it for me and I flinch when I feel Clay standing right behind me. Twirling around, I give him a sheepish smile.

“Thanks.” I look at him beneath my lashes. “Would’ve probably popped a shoulder if it weren’t for you.”

“Why did you leave the table like that?” he asks and I stare into his eyes. He’s got a black rim around all that grey which makes him look so attractive it’s sometimes hard to look at him without turning red. No wonder everyone loves him.

“I was thirsty,” I murmur, clutching the soda but he reply. He just looks at me as if he’s dissecting me and as if games I don’t know how to play, swirl in his mind. Clearing my throat, I blurt, “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo.”

“Tattoo?” he says between his firm lips and I nod, turning around, leaning slightly against the counter and Clay lets out a strange hiss.

“Right h..here,” I stutter. “Like maybe a butterfly or something.”

“Here?” Clay asks brushing my sensitive skin and I shudder, my lashes wavering and I bite my lip at his strong touch.

My answer sounds more like a moan and I freeze when he pulls his hand back. “No tattoo,” he says and I look at him in surprise.

“Why not?”

“Your skin is too clean for one. Besides I don’t want to see you walking around with a tramp stamp. Someone could get the wrong idea.”

My brows furrow. “What’s a tramp stamp?”

His eyes turn slightly more gentle and he shakes his head. “Never mind. And next time, India...”

“Yes?” I breathe.

“Don’t wear those shorts. Your butt cheeks are hanging out.”

Squirming when my face flashes hot, I say, “Didn’t really think about that.”

“I did,” he rasps and I inhale, wondering what’s going on with his voice, his eyes...he seems consumed. “Been thinking about it since you walked inside.”

“Uncle C...Clay...” I say as emotions storm in me and he gives me a stern look.

“Do you want your father to win tonight? Do you want to live in this house?”

“I don’t know...I do love the house...” I say and his features relax, “but between you and me, I don’t really think Robbie will win.”

He seems satisfied with his answer, his shoulders straightening but his next question throws me a little bit off.

“Do you still sleepwalk?”

Lowering my head, I nod. “Sometimes.” I was taken to a therapist once when I young, who claimed I walked in my sleep because I subconsciously was trying to escape. Funnily, I’ve never slept walk while spending the night in Clay’s house. Glancing at him I add, “Uncle Clay, why don’t you call me darlin anymore?”

His eyes narrow with so much warmth that it feels like I just got stung by nettles and I gasp. Opening his mouth to answer me, I curse inwardly when we get interrupted...

“What’s taking you so long?” Robbie yells from the dining room and Clay swiftly turns and walks back. We finish dinner and then Clay declares it’s time for the game to start. We all rise somberly and there’s anxiousness in the air that’s usually not there.

Usually the games are a lot of fun, but something about tonight is different.

“What do you say, bugs?” Ronnie asks, “How about you and I go take a walk in the garden while the boys play?”

At that I nod, turning in the doorway to look at Robbie and Clay as they walk up the staircase and my stomach twists.

“May the best man win,” Ronnie calls and I flinch when the library door closes.

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