Текст книги "Playing with Trouble"

Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Gray

I didn’t take my eyes off of her the entire night.

Blair had left my side to run one of the games, and I stood there like an idiot, handing out candy, struggling to make small talk, all while staring at her like she was the sun and I’d been shrouded in darkness.

A small smile played at her lips every time our gazes met. I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even risk talking to her, not when having her close was enough to make me lose control. So I looked. A lot.

Blair turned and spoke to Crossword Boy. He’d been hovering around her all night. My eyes narrowed as he bent his head and whispered something in her ear, his hand behind her, as though he were touching her back.

Motherfucker.

It hadn’t escaped my notice that the guy liked her. I wasn’t sure if Blair had picked up on it or not, but he looked at her in class. Constantly. I caught it every fucking time because I was inevitably always watching her.

I’d also noticed that he had a tendency to find excuses to touch her. Like right fucking now.

I didn’t do jealous; I never bothered to before. Not even with my wife. I’d been too focused on my career. It was screwed up, but I couldn’t pretend that my marriage hadn’t been fucked-up from the beginning. I’d been an asshole then, so focused on getting rich, on getting ahead, ruled by ego and excess, that I hadn’t even cared.

If Blair were mine, I would fucking care.

She laughed at something he said, and my chest got tight.

She looked happy. It was obvious that they were friends; I’d seen them joking around with each other plenty of times before and after class. They were both preppy, and it was impossible to miss the air of entitlement that surrounded him. He seemed like a douche, but what did I know?

After she’d told me about her broken engagement, I’d gone online, unable to resist the urge to see the guy she’d been engaged to. The fact that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Crossword Boy did not make me feel better. Nor did the way he kept leaning down into her fucking ear to talk to her.

It wasn’t that loud in here. It was totally a move.

Blair laughed again at something he said, and then her eyes drifted across the room until our gazes locked. I caught her mid-laugh, her eyes dancing, lips parted. I watched as the laugh slid off of her face, and the heat I demanded replaced the amusement he gave her.

Blair held my gaze while he continued talking to her, and I knew she wasn’t even listening, that all of her attention was focused on me.

A flush spread across her cheeks that had my dick throbbing, watching as arousal warred with composure in her beautiful brown eyes. She mumbled something to Crossword Boy, and then she fled, heading toward one of the double doors at the gym’s entrance.

His gaze met mine across the crowded gym, a frown on his preppy face.

A better man would have looked away. Would have tried to look innocent. But the darkest part of me hated that he’d been close to her. That he wanted what was mine. So I held his gaze, and my eyes said everything I could never say out loud.

And then I went after her.

Chapter Twelve

Rumors are flying amid reports that Blair Reynolds has been seen in the company of a mysterious stranger. He’s reportedly tall, dark, and handsome . . .

Has Princess Blair found her new prince?

—Capital Confessions blog

Blair

I needed air, a cold shower, and a side of sanity.

I didn’t know what it was, but for some totally insane reason, the mere sight of Gray did things to my lady parts. Lots of things.

I headed for one of the hallways off of the gym, needing the privacy of the dark, deserted space. Needing a moment from the prying eyes that I worried would see too much.

He hadn’t liked Adam touching me.

And by hadn’t liked, I meant, looked like he wanted to rip Adam’s head off.

And the fact that it turned me on was just too effed-up for words.

I leaned my back against the wall, the lockers hiding me. I closed my eyes, struggling to get my body under control. To get the part of me that craved his touch in check.

And then I heard the footsteps, and I knew. Maybe I’d known before I even left the gym. Lied to myself when I said I was coming here for peace.

Maybe I’d come here for trouble.

And it had just found me.

I didn’t open my eyes, needed the protection of the dark. Tried to hide the need that blasted through me.

My body recognized his scent first. Then the tension that throbbed between us, the sexual desire that pierced me like a knife’s point. My nipples tightened, heat pooling between my legs.

I opened my eyes and Gray stared back at me, still wearing his white Phantom mask, his hands shoved in his pockets as if he was trying to keep them from touching me. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

“He likes you.”

I blinked, surprised that he’d lead with Adam.

“Yeah.”

His gaze narrowed.

“He asked me out,” I added, not sure why I was giving him everything, but somehow unable to resist.

“What did you say?”

“I told him I wasn’t attracted to him that way.”

“I don’t think he got the message.”

I’d noticed how flirty Adam had been tonight. I figured he was the type of guy who wasn’t used to hearing “no” a lot.

“I wish I could call you mine. That everyone knew I was yours.”

Oh my god.

“I hate this.”

I closed my eyes, letting his words scrape over me until they left me raw.

“I can’t fucking sleep. I dream of you almost every night. Since the first day I walked into class and saw you.”

My lungs dragged in air as I drowned.

I’d wanted passion. He gave me more than I knew what to do with.

“I’m losing my goddamned mind, Blair. I’m trying so hard to be good, to stay away from you, and then you smile at me and I forget my fucking name.”

His words unraveled me inch by inch.

“I want you,” I whispered.

“Blair . . .” He groaned my name and I reached out, my hand tugging on his black sweater, my knuckles grazing the hard planes of his stomach through the fabric. I pulled him toward me, my back pressing into the cool lockers, until Gray hovered over me.

My hand lifted, my fingers just above the cool plastic that obscured the top half of his face. Gray stood perfectly still while I slipped under the mask, grazing his warm skin. His head jerked back as though he’d been burned, a rough exhalation escaping his mouth. My heartbeat sped up as I lifted it the rest of the way, until his beautiful face stared back at me.

I leaned forward on my tiptoes and put my mouth on his, his breath sliding between my lips before his tongue followed. Gray’s arm curled around my waist, holding me up against his body, his arousal brushing me. My arms came up, wrapping around his neck, my breasts grazing his hard pecs, the mask sliding from my fingers to hit the linoleum floor with a crack.

Gray’s mouth plundered mine, his arms holding me in place against his body as his hands squeezed my waist, his fingers molding my shape.

I sucked on his bottom lip. The taste of him swirled in my mouth, mingling with his cologne to create a heady flavor that enveloped me.

It was never enough. It was always too much.

My hands became desperate, the fever that had taken over my lips making my fingers bolder still. They slipped under the collar of his sweater, stroking the skin there, the bunched muscle that jumped at my touch. He groaned, the sound muffled by the force of our mouths, the flame of desire burning us from the inside out.

An ache began between my thighs, moisture pooling, a tingle spreading throughout my limbs. I was on fucking fire and I wanted him to bring me the release I craved.

I arched into his touch.

He rewarded my boldness with his hand on my thigh, just below the hem of my tutu. His palm against my leg warmed me through the thick tights. His mouth released mine, his gaze pinning me to the wall, my concentration focused on his touch, wanting, needing him to move his hand higher.

He didn’t.

He stayed perfectly still, his hand branding me, holding me in place, giving me the chance to say no, the chance to walk away. If the feeling inside me wasn’t clawing, scratching, desperate to get out, I would have laughed. He couldn’t have pushed me away if he tried.

His eyes darkened as I met his gaze, giving him my answer.

And then he moved.

His hand trailed up the inside of my thigh, sucking the air out from the room, commanding me to spread my legs without a word.

All it took was his touch and my body responded instantly.

I cursed the thick tights I’d put under my costume, railed against the stupid cold weather that had me placing function over fashion. Over easy access. Over this.

Although, in my defense, it wasn’t like I’d been able to predict that I’d find myself up against a locker with Gray’s hand between my legs.

It was glorious.

The ache between my thighs intensified, throbbed, the promise of his fingers tantalizingly close, mind-blowing.

At least I’d foregone a full ballet costume, wasn’t wearing a leotard. All he had to do was reach higher and slip his hand into the waistband of my tights.

“Touch me,” I whispered, the sound unnaturally loud in the alcove off of this quiet hallway that had somehow become our own private world.

He moved, as if my words had given him the permission he needed to take what he wanted, and gave me everything.

Gray

Blair’s leg quivered beneath my touch, the scratchy tights against my skin an erotic torment.

I wanted to feel her soft skin, hated the barrier between us. Her body curved into my touch, throwing off heat. I forced myself to go slow, to drag the moment out when all I wanted to do was rush, to prolong her arousal until her legs parted for me, until soft pants escaped her lips, and I heard the word, please, delivered in a tone that bordered on desperation.

My fingers trailed up her thighs an inch. Then another. I stroked, higher still, until I felt her body go boneless in my arms, soft sighs slipping out of her mouth, filling my ears in a melody that spurred my limbs.

A low, almost inhuman growl escaped me, my fingers drifting over her sex, pressing against her tights, her wetness seeping through the fabric.

“Fuck,” I groaned, pushing forward, my cock rocking against her core, my hands on her hips under the pink tutu, searching for entrance.

I leaned into her, inhaling her scent, my nose grazing the sensitive skin at her neck, teasing another shiver from her. My teeth found the hollow between her neck and shoulder and bit down, tasting her there, marking her, any hope of civility completely obliterated.

I sucked on the curve of her neck, imagining that creamy soft skin marred by my lips, tongue, and teeth. It felt like I was defiling perfection, molding it, changing it, taking all of that goodness and making it something wanton. Turning her into the girl who stood with her body pressed against mine, rubbing herself over my fingers, her body quaking around me.

I had to have more.

My hands traveled up under her skirt until they reached the waistband of her tights, my dick jerking with a surge of triumph. I hovered there, dragging my fingers across her stomach, the softness there, back and forth, while she shivered against me.

When the pressure in my chest became too tight, the ache in my cock too great, I slipped under the elastic, my fingers sliding down, down, until I found the nub I was looking for. I rubbed her clit with my middle finger, once, twice, the movement teasing a tremor from her body. Then another.

I forced myself to go slow, to make it good for her, reached for control only to discover it had snapped a long time ago.

I stroked downward, my body shuddering as I traced her soft lips, as they coated my fingers.

So fucking wet.

My free hand reached out and grasped her neck, holding her head back so that our gazes met.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, her eyelids fluttering as if she were trying to get her bearings, trying to get herself under control.

I waited for the words, for her to tell me how badly she needed my touch, my fingers hovering just outside of her entrance, inches away from sinking home.

She opened her mouth to speak, to give me what I wanted, to give me everything by the look in her eyes, and yet no words came. She was somewhere else entirely, somewhere where pleasure took over and consumed past the point of reason. I lowered my fingers another inch, teasing her there, stroking through her wetness and warmth. She jerked against my hand, and then I couldn’t take it any longer; I slipped my middle finger inside, the feel of her body clenching down around me making my balls ache.

Whatever fantasies I’d had about touching Blair Reynolds, this blew them out of the water.

Blair

His finger filled me, thick and sure, and then another one joined it, stretching me, fucking me.

I tried to set the pace, tried to move over his hand, honing the orgasm building inside me to a sharp point.

He didn’t let me.

The hand that had held me by the back of my neck, the hand that had felt so masculine and so strong, now came down my body, pressing between my breasts, lower, until it settled on my stomach, holding me still, commanding me to go at his pace, to take what he gave me.

I stopped moving, the need to come obliterating all else.

He rewarded me by increasing the thrust of his fingers, pumping in and out, each movement creating a delicious friction, heightening the sensations in my already sensitive core.

He curled his fingers when he was fully seated inside me, each time sparking the beginnings of my orgasm, each touch a promise. He played me like an instrument, each stroke teasing out another note of my arousal until I’d been reduced to an incoherent mess.

Words and sounds escaped, but I had no clue what I was even trying to say. My hands reached out, gripping his biceps, my nails digging into his black sweater, somewhere between holding on for balance and trying to pull him closer. Begging, demanding he give me what I wanted, what I needed.

And then it started, the heat spreading through me, his thumb rubbing over my clit, once, twice, until I was coming, my body in spasms as I shattered in his arms.

Gray

I was painfully hard, my balls tight, begging for release. The zipper of my jeans dug into my erection. My fingers were soaked. My self-restraint had flown away.

Fuck.

I stood frozen while Blair straightened her tights and her skirt, looking nowhere near as ruffled as I’d expected her to be. I was the one who’d lost control.

Again.

Fuck.

“We have to stop doing this.” I wasn’t sure if I said it more for her or myself. “You’re one of my students. We might not be that far apart in terms of our ages, but that still doesn’t change the fact that if anyone finds out about this, it’ll be bad. You don’t want to start your legal career with people gossiping that you slept your way through law school. And trust me, it’s a small community, if they find out about us, they will.”

Blair grimaced. “You don’t need to convince me of how damaging gossip can be. I’ve lived my life in the public eye, remember?”

I nodded, still struggling to connect the girl who’d just come in my arms with the girl who cared about appearances and worried about her reputation. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her control. Or given it up. I wasn’t sure which anymore.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to focus on doing the right thing and not how much I wanted to touch her. I should never have followed her out of the gym, should never have given Crossword Boy the opportunity to see how I felt about her.

But some stupid, primal part of me had reacted to him touching her, laughing with her. I’d wanted to claim her as mine. Even when I couldn’t have her.

Bastard.

“And what happens in January?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re no longer my teacher after finals in December. We receive our grades in January. What happens then?”

I didn’t get it. I mean, I got it. I just didn’t get it.

She was gorgeous and smart, political royalty. She could have anyone.

Why me?

“I don’t know.”

She moved away from the lockers, rising to her full height, her arms crossing in front of her chest.

“You’re scared.”

I blinked.

I’d been prepared for anger. I should have known Blair wouldn’t give me the expected. Instead, she looked disappointed in me. As if this had all been a test I’d failed.

I didn’t bother lying. Not when she read me better than anyone ever had.

“I am.”

She didn’t give me sympathy. Didn’t let it lie there. She continued, pushing me, forcing me to give her more than I was prepared to give.

“Why?”

After all the mistakes I’d made, the wreckage of my life I’d faced, fucking rehab, I’d thought I’d been humbled. I’d been so wrong. It took a twenty-three-year-old girl in a pink tutu to bring me to my knees. And she did it with one word, with an arch of her eyebrow, and a flash in her eyes.

It was like Red Riding Hood had suddenly pounced on the Big Bad Wolf.

“Why?” she repeated when I didn’t answer, tenacious when she wanted to be.

I grimaced. “You tempt me. So fucking much. I want to think I can be better for you. That I can change. But what if I can’t? It’s one thing to hurt myself, what if I hurt you, too? What if I let you down? I break things. I don’t want to break you.”

She walked toward me, stopping when she was less than a foot away. Our gazes held. Her voice was colder than winter.

“You didn’t call on me every week because you thought I was weak. You didn’t challenge me because you thought you could break me. You can’t. You’re so convinced that you’re the bad guy, that you’re somehow going to ruin me. But if you were that guy, you’d take what I’m offering you. You’d take me. Any way you could have me.”

She skewered me like a pig on a spit.

“You’re scared. Scared to try, scared to be more than you are, scared to take a fucking chance. You’re hiding under all that arrogance and anger because it’s easy to hide in the dark. Easy to settle. Easy to play it safe.” She leaned up on her tiptoes, her soft lips pressing against my cheek in a kiss that was more taunt than affection. She pulled back, pinning me with her gaze.

I knew she was right. About me, her, us, all of it.

And I was too fucking empty to do anything but stand there like an idiot while she walked away.

Chapter Thirteen

Two days until the election, and Senator and Mrs. Reynolds are out campaigning. Noticeably absent? Miss Blair Reynolds and her sister Kate. Dare we say it? Is there mutiny in the Reynolds household?

—Capital Confessions blog

Blair

“I think I’m in trouble.”

My younger sister Kate took a sip from her mimosa. “Is this about mom and dad? Because if it is, I’ve already told you—stop taking their calls. I’m sure as hell not doing any campaign shit with them, and you shouldn’t have to either.”

“It’s not mom and dad.”

Although, Kate had a point. I’d received messages from everyone from my father’s campaign manager, to my mother, to a freaking intern, trying to get me to show up for his events.

I’d declined them all.

Part of it was just being busy with law school, the other part that I might have bitten off more than I could chew with the pro bono project. I was the first to admit that I occasionally went overboard with special events, and this had been no exception.

But more than anything, I just couldn’t see myself standing next to my father and endorsing his candidacy. Not after what he’d done. Maybe my mother could forgive his affair, look the other way at the fact that he’d fathered a daughter and refused to take any responsibility for his actions.

I couldn’t.

I understood that people made mistakes, could forgive him for slipping up. It didn’t make it right, but he was human, it happened. But he showed no remorse. It was as if he thought it was okay to treat the rest of the world as little more than inconveniences to be quashed or minions beneath his control. I was sick of falling in line.

“What’s up?” Jackie asked from her place on the couch next to Kate.

Sunday brunch had become a tradition among us. I usually hosted since my place was the biggest. I called it “sister brunch” which Kate snorted at and Jackie seemed pleased by. Mimosas were a staple, and since law school sapped me of my desire to be domestic, I usually ran down to the bakery around the corner and picked up muffins and croissants that we gorged on until we all went our separate ways in a carb-induced coma.

“There’s this guy.”

Jackie’s eyes lit up. “Okay, now you have to tell us everything.”

I winced. “It’s a little complicated.”

She made a face. “Seriously?”

I grinned. “Touché.”

Jackie and her fiancé, Will, had hooked up while she was working on his campaign. It wasn’t forbidden per se, but it had been an issue with her internship at the prestigious consulting firm that hadn’t wanted one of their consultants to be front page news, and had definitely put Will in an awkward position with his campaign. When their relationship—and sex life—had been exposed, the media had been all over it, but eventually the attention had petered out.

Jackie laughed. “If you need a resident expert on complicated, you’re pretty much set. Spill.”

It was tough when you lived your life in the public eye. There were very few people I really trusted with my secrets, and the two people I trusted most were in this room. I hesitated, needing someone to talk to. My gaze darted to Kate.

She pasted on a smile that twenty-one years of sisterhood told me wasn’t completely genuine. It was the smile she’d given me when we’d ridden our bikes and a stick had gotten stuck in her spokes and she’d fallen, skinning her knees until her jeans were soaked with blood. I knew her well enough to know she was bleeding now, even if it wasn’t visible on the outside.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

It was hard to not feel horrible talking about guys in front of Kate.

There was that forced smile again. “Spill.”

God, I loved her. She’d been a tough kid, and at twenty-one, she was still the bravest person I knew.

I sucked in a deep breath, ours the kind of relationship where I didn’t even need to say that this was all a secret. Sister bond and all that. They knew.

“I kissed one of my law school professors.”

Kate had the biggest reaction, which wasn’t surprising considering she’d known a version of me who definitely didn’t do things like that. Unfortunately, my announcement caught her mid–mimosa sip and the orange liquid spurted onto my dark leather couch. She grabbed a napkin from the tray on the ottoman, cleaning up the mess with a pointed smile.

I was notorious for being a neat freak.

The spill taken care of, Kate turned her attention back to me. “Sorry, but when my professors come to mind, kissing is the last thing I’d want to do with them.” She was in the final year of her political science undergrad at Georgetown. “Please tell me he’s not seventy and bald.”

I snorted. “He’s definitely not seventy and bald. He’s hot. Seriously hot.”

“So how was it?” Jackie interjected. “I need more details.”

Kate frowned. “Did he come on to you?”

I shook my head. “Actually, I kind of jumped him.”

Kate gaped at me. “You jumped him?” I nodded. “You jumped him?” she repeated.

I laughed. “You can say it as many times as you’d like, but that won’t make it any less true.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It took you six dates before you even kissed Thom.”

“I was fifteen,” I protested. “And I’d never been kissed before. And if you’re going to bring up Thom, you can also add in the fact that clearly he wasn’t dying to kiss me.”

Kate winced. “True.”

“But you like this guy, right?” Jackie asked.

“Yes. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Kate shook her head like Martians had invaded my body. “Since when do you do complicated? By choice?”

“I don’t.”

Jackie’s gaze darted back and forth between me and Kate as if she were trying to decipher our relationship. These were the moments when I remembered that as much as Jackie had slid into the role of sister with relative ease, there was a lifetime of memories and experiences that she’d missed out on.

“But you kissed your professor,” Jackie interjected. “So ergo, complicated.”

Kate grinned. “Ergo?”

Jackie rolled her eyes, her voice teasing. “Stop giving me shit so we can get to the good stuff, please. Let’s start with what it was about him that made Blair jump him.”

That was the easy part.

“His voice. His eyes. His confidence. The way he carries himself. His great hair. How scarily intelligent he is.” I gulped down the rest of my mimosa. “I told him I was confused in my con law class and he actually explained the Commerce Clause to me. So if I’m going to go with an excuse,” for the second kiss, at least, “it’s definitely going to be, the Commerce Clause made me do it.”

Jackie snagged another mini-croissant. “Sounds legit to me. What’s his name?”

“Gray.”

“Ooh good name. And he’s cute?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t go with cute.” I searched for the right word and still felt like I came up short. “He’s intense. In a way that makes you think you have to kiss him. Even when you shouldn’t.”

“Because he’s your professor,” Kate said, her voice tinged with judgment, her eyes full of worry.

“Partly. There’s more. He’s kind of a mess,” I admitted, feeling like saying it aloud made it that much more real. I knew it, I’d seen it, I’d heard it, and yet here I was.

“How?” Kate interjected. I might have been two years older, but she had a hell of a protective streak.

“He has some baggage. He was married.” Jackie and Kate just stared at me. “Divorced now. There were some girls when they were separated. And some substance abuse issues.” I sort of ran the last words together as if that would hide the ugly truth.

Kate shot that hope down instantly.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I winced. “I told you it was bad. He didn’t cheat when he was married, but when he was separated, and after, apparently he went a little off the rails. And before that, during, and after, he had some substance abuse issues. But he’s clean now.”

Kate shook her head. “Fuck that. You just had a guy cheat on you. At your wedding. Getting involved with another cheater, even if they were separated, even if you are just kissing one, is stupid.”

I scowled at her. “Thanks. I kind of realized that when I told you things were messy.”

She made a face like she’d swallowed something foul. “I expected you to know better.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why? Because I never get to take a risk or make mistakes? Because I’m not supposed to feel something as simple as attraction and act on it? I didn’t say I was marrying the guy. I didn’t even say I was dating him. I just said that I kissed him and things were complicated.”

“He’s going to hurt you.”

The image of Gray’s face in the car, the look in his eyes, hit me again. “You don’t know that.”

“Once a cheater, always a cheater,” Kate snapped while Jackie looked on, an uncomfortable expression on her face.

She’d been raised an only child, so I figured she was completely unprepared for a knockdown, drag-out sister fight.

“You don’t think that’s a little closed-minded?” I challenged. “They were separated. They weren’t actually together.”

“Please,” Kate scoffed. “Tell me you didn’t have the same thought.”

She was right; I’d had the same thought. And now I was vaguely ashamed of it.

“He made a mistake, Kate. A huge mistake. I’m not saying I feel sorry for him or that he didn’t deserve the consequences of his actions. But at what point does that end? Should we have him in the stocks at noon? Ask him to self-flagellate? Should I really judge him for something in his past that he’s trying to put behind him?”

“A good man doesn’t cheat,” she said, her lips in the stubborn line I recognized from our childhood. “In any way. Period. If you’re willing to forgive Gray his infidelity, what would you say about Thom? He cheated on you on your wedding day, your professor cheated on his wife. How are they any different?”

“Is it really cheating if they were separated?” I countered.

“Would you call it cheating if it had happened to you?”

Kate had the strongest sense of justice of anyone I knew. She was determined to work in intelligence after graduation—I’d bought her a spy kit as a joke for Christmas last year—but if anything, she would have been a better fit for law school than I was. I hated conflict with every fiber of my being, whereas Kate jumped into battle with her sword ready.

She didn’t sugarcoat anything, not even with someone she loved, and she had an annoying habit of being right.

“Thom hasn’t apologized for what he did. For all I know, he isn’t sorry at all.”

Okay, maybe I wasn’t taking his calls, but I just didn’t know what was left to say. I figured sex on our wedding day said it all.

“So remorse makes it okay?”

Jesus, she really should reconsider her future career path. She’d kill in a courtroom. Being on the receiving end of this was kind of torture.

“I think there’s a difference between doing something wrong and being sorry for it, and doing something wrong and not giving a shit and continuing to screw people over,” I snapped, my voice rising with each word. There was something about fighting with my sister—no one could push my buttons like Kate.

When we were kids, we’d bickered frequently, the two-year age difference between us close enough to often be too close. I would have given my life for her in a heartbeat, but sometimes she really pissed me off. Probably because she knew me better than anyone.

Jackie fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat as though she wanted to be anywhere but here.

“That’s why we’re angry at Dad, isn’t it?” I added. “Because he lies and cheats and doesn’t care who he hurts? The difference between someone like him and Gray is that Gray recognizes that he fucked up. And he’s sorry. Dad isn’t ever sorry.”

Kate made a disgusted noise in her throat that was either her way of disagreeing with me, or her attempt to communicate her loathing for our father. I wasn’t sure which. Kate’s problems with my parents had begun way before news of our father’s affair and Jackie’s identity had come out. Kate had a bigger reason to hate him, one I wasn’t sure she would ever get over.

“Besides,” I continued, taking a deep breath to steady myself so I wasn’t too harsh with Kate. “I think you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is. I just wanted to talk about it. I’m not having babies with the man. It’s not a big deal.”