Текст книги "Tangled Bond"
Автор книги: Emma Hart
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
The truth will out.
The truth will out.
What does that even mean?
My mind is full of both Nick’s and Alyssa’s words. His certainty that everything will come and Alyssa’s insistence of her knowledge of her husband’s infidelities.
The question, though, is if she knew about Natalie. He may tell her every time he sleeps with someone or goes to D.O.M., but would he really tell her that he was sleeping with their daughter’s best friend? There is a line, after all, and that crosses it, doesn’t it? It’s one thing to sleep with your brother’s best friend or your best friend’s sister, but your child’s best friend?
That’s really screwed up.
That’s like my Dad sleeping with Bek.
And now, I’m traumatized.
I sip my coffee and flick through another one of Natalie’s contracts.
Do Alyssa and Nick know each other? Would they have met at some point during his relationship with Natalie? She was adamant that she only saw her when necessary, but she wouldn’t be the first person to have lied here.
I sigh and close the contract. These are going to be dead ends. That’s for sure. If erotic asphyxiation is against the club’s rules, it won’t be in a contract anywhere. This is a total waste of my time. I could be talking to Madison McDougall right now. I could be drawing up profiles of motivation and opportunity for everyone we’ve met so far.
Screw it. I’m going to do that instead. It’s a far better use of my time than reading this bullshit.
I shove the contracts to one side. One falls on the floor, but I leave it there and grab my whiteboard Sharpie. I wipe off the reminder to myself to order more printer ink and uncap the pen. Then I write four names at the top, separate their columns with lines, and underline the names.
Mayor McDougall. Motive: If he knew about the baby and Natalie wasn’t trying to have an abortion and was throwing her pills away instead, then yes, absolutely. Opportunity: Yes, either before or after Alyssa left Natalie’s hotel room.
Alyssa McDougall. Motive: If she knew about her husband’s affair and that Natalie was pregnant, hell yeah, that’s a motive. Opportunity: When she was in her room with her. The second figure could have helped her, whoever it was.
Madison McDougall. Motive: If she knew about her dad’s affair and the baby, yes. Opportunity: Well, she was the one who found her. Supposedly. She could have been the unidentifiable figure on the camera.
Nick Lucas. Motive: Goes without saying. Opportunity: Again, could have been the figure on the camera.
I’m really no closer than I was twenty minutes ago. Hm. I cap the pen and walk back, perching on the edge of my desk. Tapping the pen against my lips, I read what I just wrote. I read it again. And again.
“Hey,” I call to Carlton, catching him walking past my office.
“What’s up?” He hovers by the doorway, his hands in his pockets.
“Do you have any close female friends?”
“Sure. Why?”
“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed off would you be if you found out your dad was sleeping with one of them and had them knocked up?” I glance at him, and upon seeing the horror on his face, I quickly add, “Hypothetically. I swear.”
His shoulders drop as he relaxes. “If he was still married to my mom?” I nod. “I dunno. Probably fifty or somethin’.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “What if one was totally cool and one hundred was murderous. Would you still be fifty?”
“There’s a point to this, yeah? You’re not tryna scope me out as a potential murderer?”
I laugh. “No, I swear there’s a point.”
He shrugs. “Probably. I’d be mad enough to want to throw a rock at his face or somethin’, but not mad enough to actually do it. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. One day, I’ll introduce you to my grandmother and you’ll understand how often I come close to eighty on that scale.” I smirk. “Okay, so let’s switch this. What if your girlfriend slept with her best friend’s father and got pregnant? Then where would you be on the scale?”
“Probably about the same. I dunno. I’m pretty laid-back. I think I’d be more betrayed than angry.”
And betrayal leads people to do more impulsive, stupid things than anger does.
“Thanks, Carlton. Hey—I need some records, actually.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“A lot. I need everything you can get on Natalie Owens, Nick Lucas, and the whole McDougall family.”
“The mayor’s family?”
“Yep.” I meet his eyes. “Probably best to keep that one quiet.”
“No shit,” he mutters. “All right. I’ll try to get some to you by the end of the day.”
“Thanks. Natalie Owens is most important right now, more specifically her medical records.”
He frowns but nods in agreement anyway.
I guess only a handful of people actually know about her being pregnant. I’d rather it stays that way, too.
My eyes drift back to the whiteboard. Speaking to the mayor so early about his relationship with Natalie without any more tangible proof is asking for disaster. And to be fired, which is the last thing I want. Not even because of the money, but because then Drake and my brothers will withhold every bit of information they can. I don’t care what Drake says. He’s still not happy about this situation.
I pick my phone up and dial Madison’s number.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Hi, Madison. This is Noelle Bond. I was wondering if you were free to talk.”
“Sure. I’m at the town hall building.”
“I’m on my way.”
I get out of my car, having squeezed into the tiniest parking space known to man. Why these business guys need big-ass trucks that take up two point five spaces, I’ll never know. I assume they’d be too afraid to crease their suits, but maybe it has to do with their egos. Bigger is better and all that.
Such a pissing contest.
I walk in and go to the main reception desk, which was closed last time I was here. “Can you tell me where I can find Madison McDougall?”
The woman barely looks up at me. “Floor three.”
“Thank you.” I make it across the lobby and into the elevator before the doors shut.
The button for three is already pushed, so I simply wait until it shudders to a stop and announces our arrival at level three. Almost immediately, I spot Madison sitting at a desk and looking incredibly bored.
“Hey,” I say quietly, approaching her. “Am I interrupting anything?”
She looks up with a sad smile. “No. Looking at funeral stuff.” She takes a deep breath. “She has no one to plan it except me and I…” she trails off as her voice thickens. Then she shakes her head and focuses on me. “Your brother said you’d be by to talk to me soon. What do you need?”
“Do you want to talk here or go somewhere more private?” I look around at the half-empty floor.
“None of these people care,” she replies sadly. “They’re on minimize-campaign-damage mode. Same with Dad. He hired a new manager to oversee everything since Jane quit after Nat was found. She’s in his office now. The new one, I mean. Not Jane.”
I nod slowly. “I know my brother already took your statement, so I’m not gonna ask you about Friday. I want to know more about Natalie.”
“And Nick?” she asks, her cheeks pinking.
Interesting. “Especially about Nick. Their relationship sounds kinda crazy.”
“It was. But Nat… She had her”—Madison pouts, pausing—“things,” she finishes lamely. “I don’t know how to phrase it. He was cruel about it. He called her a sadomasochistic whore, disgusting, a freak, all sorts of things. He didn’t realize why she liked BDSM.”
“I don’t know much about it, so at the risk of looking like a total asshole, she had a specific relationship with them, right?”
“The guys at the club? Yeah. She was always the submissive.”
“How long has she been going there?”
“Since she was twenty-one. They have an age limit. I think she ended up there after a date with one of the guys who goes regularly. Their relationship never made it back out of the club. As far as I know, he was one of the only people she was with regularly.”
“What’s his name?” I rifle in my purse for a notebook and a pen.
“Vince Fulton,” she answers. “Here.” She hands me a Post-it and a pen, and I write his name down then hand them back. “He works at the—”
“Building yard just outside town, right? Yeah, I know him. He did my parents’ sunroom last year. Thanks.” I tuck the note into a zip pocket inside my purse. “What kind of stuff did she do there? I don’t want to upset you, but her positioning on Saturday was kind of…”
“Uncomfortable? Painful? Disturbing?” Madison raises an eyebrow. “Take your pick, okay? I don’t know. I told her I didn’t want to talk about that shit with her. I accepted that she liked to be whipped and chained or whatever, but when she moved into that strangling stuff and pretending that she was being raped, I was done. I only went once and stayed at the bar the whole time because I was too scared to go inside a room.”
“Who else would have known about what she liked except for the club members and Nick?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. Their relationship was screwed the moment she told him she was missing that lifestyle. I think she went back to try to get rid of him, but he gave her a compromise she couldn’t refuse.”
I nod in agreement.
“It was…awkward with them. Sometimes, they got along really well, but when they didn’t, they’d both close off and go and sleep with anyone they wanted.”
“Did you sleep with Nick?”
Her eyes flick down to the desk, and she rolls up the sticky note on the top of the pile. “Twice,” she admits softly. “The first time was an accident.”
Did his penis slip and fall into her vagina or something? Did it apologize after?
“How do you sleep with someone by accident?”
“You get drunk,” she responds wryly. “He walked out after finding out she’d had a threesome at the club. I was at the bar, escaping my parents never-ending arguments, and we commiserated together. Literally.”
“And the second time?”
“I…wish I could give you an explanation. It was one of those things that happened. She told him she was going away to see her cousins in New Mexico, but really, she was going to a swingers weekend there. He came to my place, and you know how the rest of that story goes.”
“So, when you say twice, you really mean…”
“Two different occasions.” She even looks embarrassed. She should, too. Sleeping with her best friend’s boyfriend no matter the state of their relationship is the lowest of the low.
Mind you, so is sleeping with your best friend’s dad.
Still, though, if I found out Bek slept with Drake…
Hold the phone. Since when do I refer to him as my boyfriend? My brain and I are gonna have to have ourselves a little chat tonight.
I pull my attention back to Madison. “Right. When was the last time you saw Nick?”
“Right when they broke up. He told me he wanted to be with me and that’s why he broke up with her. He said he couldn’t deal with her freaky desires.”
“What did you say to him then?”
“I told him there was no way we could be together right away. And that I didn’t trust him not to cheat on me.” She shrugs and picks at a cuticle. “That was the last time we spoke, too. I tried to call him when the hospital let me go home on Friday, but he wouldn’t answer.”
“Believe me, you’re not the only one who had that issue.” I wet my lips with my tongue and meet Madison’s eyes. “Did you know that Natalie was pregnant?”
She stiffens, her finger and thumb still pinched at the base of a nail on her other hand, and her eyes gloss over with shock. “She—she was? When? How many—oh my God.”
I’m gonna go with a whoops here.
“Yeah. It came out in the autopsy,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
She shakes her head and clears her throat. “How far…how far was she?”
“Not very,” I lie. “Only a few weeks. We’re trying to find out who the father was.”
“So, it wasn’t Nick?”
“He says no.” I shrug. “Look, I’ve taken up enough of your time today. I’m sorry.” I hand her one of my cards from my wallet. “If you need anything, call me.”
Madison nods slowly, taking the card from me with a shaking hand. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the baby thing.
“Ms. Bond?”
Ugh. Kill me.
I turn to face the mayor when I stand. “Mayor McDougall. How are you?”
“Well, well,” he responds, his gaze flittering between me and his daughter. “What are you doing here?”
I’m fine, thanks. Got a hankering for a cupcake though. “I wanted to make sure Madison was okay and ask her a few things about Natalie’s relationship with Nick. I figured, if anyone could help me, it’d be her.”
“Excuse me,” Madison whispers, getting up and slinking past him.
His nod is slow, his eyes calculating. “And was she helpful?”
“Oh, absolutely. I have a much clearer picture of their relationship. Nick wasn’t real helpful on that when I spoke with him.”
“So you’re coming close to being able to arrest him?” He finally focuses on me.
“I couldn’t say, sir. That’s up to Detective Nash and Sheriff Bates. I’ve been told to keep my bitch in check and get as much information about him as I can. I’m actually off to his apartment building to interview his neighbors about him now,” I lie smoothly. “He seems like a waste of oxygen, if I’m honest.”
“Indeed. There’s actually someone I’d like you to meet. My latest campaign manager has regrettably stepped out following the unfortunate circumstances this weekend.” He steps to the side, revealing a stunning brunette wearing a well-fitting skirt-and-blazer set.
The white blouse she’s wearing only accentuates her golden skin, and as my gaze crawls upward, her fake smile is the first thing I notice. The deep brown of her eyes is the next, and they hold a serious measure of contempt.
“Ms. Bond, this is Jessica Shearer. She’s my newest campaign manager. Ms. Shearer, this is Noelle Bond, owner of Bond Private Investigations. I’ve hired her to work with the police here to find Natalie’s killer.”
Jessica steps forward and holds a hand out, her gaze flicking over me from head to toe. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bond. I can’t wait to hear more about what you’ve found out so far.”
I slide my hand into hers and squeeze a little tighter than she is.
What? Her tone is really fucking annoying me.
“The feeling’s mutual, Ms. Shearer. Unfortunately, though, I’m not at liberty to divulge any of the case to anyone outside of the police department. The only person I can discuss it with is Mayor McDougall, and even then, he understands there are limits to the information he can have.” I take my hand from hers and grab the strap of my purse. I hold her gaze for a moment longer before turning to the mayor. “I’ll finish my interviews and regroup with everyone at the station tomorrow. I’ll ask Sheriff Bates if he can give you a small brief, if only to help ease Madison’s grief.”
His eyes soften momentarily at the mention of her sadness. “Thank you, Ms. Bond. That’s appreciated.”
Madison sits back down on her chair, pale, with her bangs sticking to her forehead. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone is still suffering from severe shock and just threw up in the bathroom.
“Madison? Are you okay?” Mayor McDougall says, touching her shoulder.
“Dad…” she replies shakily, weakly looking up at him. “Did you know Natalie was pregnant?” Her voice is barely a whisper, but the mayor freezes. “Someone killed her and her baby, Dad. A baby.”
“No,” Mayor McDougall replies, licking his lips. His gaze darts from her to me. “I had no idea.”
“How could someone do that?” she breathes, her eyes filling with tears.
“I should go now,” I say softly. “Madison? I’m sorry.”
She ignores me though. Even the mayor is more focused on his daughter than on me. The only person who so much as acknowledges my words is Jessica.
She’s still staring at me with contempt. Now maybe it’s my ripped jean shorts or my flowery tank, or maybe even my lacy flats, but heaven only knows what’s so offensive about that.
Whatever. I don’t plan on working with her very much anyway. I’ll leave that stuff to Drake. He’s the cop, after all.
Regardless of that, this visit has given me lots of information, the most important being that the mayor absolutely knew about Natalie’s baby.
And he absolutely knew it was his.
Dinner tonight? Drake’s message pops up on my phone.
Like a date dinner? Do I have to wash my hair?
…
Can I wear yoga pants then? I try.
Or we could order pizza and watch a movie or something. At least try to look human.
Why? You wanted to date me. You have to accept my yoga pants and three-day-old unwashed hair.
Fine. Wear deodorant.
I guess I can do that. I laugh and grab my car keys from my desk.
After leaving the town hall building, I came straight back to the office and edited my whiteboard. If I’m honest with myself, I’d hoped that talking with Madison would mean that I could wipe her off as a suspect, but I can’t. It only strengthens both her and Nick’s motives. After all, if Natalie was out of the way, they wouldn’t have to wait to begin their relationship, would they?
And as for the mayor… I kind of feel the same way I did with Ryan Perkins when he hired me to find out who killed Lena. Ryan is now, incidentally, living with his pregnant mistress.
Why would the mayor hire me if he killed her to remove the issue of the baby? That would give her considerable power. He’d have to pay her child support, take up his fair share of the childcare to maintain his wholesome family-guy image, and not to mention the baby would become an heir to some of the McDougall empire.
It would also be a huge difference in his marriage. I guess it’s one thing to sleep with someone but another thing entirely to knock someone else up.
Funny. I remember saying the same thing about Ryan Perkins.
I lock my office door behind me and poke my head around Carlton’s. He’s already left, but there’s a folder on his desk, and my name is on the piece of paper folded to stand. He’s a smart cookie, this one.
I open the sheet of paper and read his note, which tells me that he has everything on Natalie amd Nick and is working on the McDougalls. That’ll do.
I wonder if Drake will mind a working date.
Is it a date if I really do wear my yoga pants?
Possibly.
I flick through Nick’s information as I walk downstairs, bypassing the basics. Place of birth, schools attended, qualifications, job histo—
Oh my fucking God.
Job history. Escort. The date shows he started right after he came to Austin, and quit after the start of his relationship with Natalie. No wonder he’s so bitter toward her. He gave up a—possibly questionable—career which probably made him more money than the tattoo shop ever will to be with her fully, and she couldn’t adjust to life without a bit of kink.
Hell, I’d be bitter, too…
I almost walk into the front door, stopping just in time. I set the alarm and lock it before meandering over to my car as I contemplate this new information. As I get in in, something seriously occurs to me: If he was an escort, wouldn’t he be familiar with BDSM? Have even participated in it?
I guess he could have specified on his website or whatever that it wasn’t his thing, but still. Surely he’d understand sexual desires? Fetishes? Needs? Shouldn’t he have been able to deal with that without judging her for her choices?
Is it a choice though? Is it sometimes a compulsion? A need to be dominated or to dominate? Is it always sadist?
Of course, the simple answer here is that I don’t know, and I won’t likely ever find out unless I suddenly want to explore the world of BDSM for a romance novel. Given that I don’t even type up my own contracts and I delegate e-mails where necessary, a novel is never going to happen.
And while I’ve been contemplating the mysteries of the sexual universe, I’ve driven right past my house. Fantastic.
My phone vibrates with a call as I’m about to make a U-turn at the end of the street. I pull over without killing the engine and dig it out of my purse. Drake.
“Did I just see you drive straight past your house?”
“How about you shut your mouth?” I mutter, hitting the hands-free button and putting it down in my lap. “How did you see that? You aren’t outside my house.”
“I was driving past to get pizza.”
“You can order that for delivery, you know.” I park in my driveway.
“Not real Italian pizza from Giovanni’s.”
Aw. If I were a total romantic, I’d be melting. Except I’m not, so I ask, “With what on it?”
“One for you with pepperoni and extra mozzarella with a slightly crispy crust, and one for me with pepperoni, ham, chicken, and mushrooms without the crispy crust.”
Aw. Okay. Maybe he wins this.
“How long will you be?”
“Maybe thirty minutes. And since my house is closer to Giovanni’s and I’ve been driving around like a NASCAR driver all day, get your ass over there. There’s a spare key under the mat.” His instant hanging up beats down any of my ideas about arguing that.
I’ve never been to his house. And I’m definitely not letting myself in. Although spying would be fun. Just to see what kind of a person he really is, you know? Does he have pictures of his family? What about his friends? Does he have friends outside the HWPD? Where are his family? Is it a bachelor pad? How many bedrooms are used as bedrooms and not dumb games rooms or gyms?
Fuck my curiosity. She’s such a tempting little bitch.
Without going inside to get my yoga pants like my waist is screaming for, I restart the engine and reverse out of the drive.
Pizza at Drake’s. That’s normal, right? That’s what two people with a still-undefined relationship do, isn’t it?
I don’t even know.
I’ve been alone for so long. It’s been a good three years since I settled back into Holly Woods full time. Maybe even longer—I couldn’t give a date. For at least nine months before that in Dallas, I was single after I found my boyfriend boning a rookie.
Maybe I’ve forgotten how to be in a relationship. Maybe I’m scared to be.
No, scratch that. I’m definitely a little afraid to be. That means I have to give up a part of me, and I don’t want to do that. I want to be. Just me.
Yet I know exactly where Drake lives without ever having been to his house.
I’m going to blame that on small-town living. Totally, completely, one hundred percent.
I love his street. From the cute little bushes blocking off everyone’s front yards to the pretty gates closed over every driveway and the redbrick detached houses, it’s the house most people dream of owning one day.
When I was nine, I declared I’d buy a house here one day. Yeah, well, I didn’t quite have enough money for that when I left Dallas. Although I probably would right now if I stopped spending money on shoes.
What a ridiculous idea.
Wait. What number is your house? I text him after pulling up alongside the curb.
1762, he replies within a minute.
I look at the house to my right and squint. 1780. There isn’t a car behind me, so I reverse back to see the number of the house next to it. 1782. Awesome. No awkward mid-road U-turns needed. Thankfully.
I once took the side mirror off another car trying to do that. I left a note.
I pull back onto the street and drive down it at a snail’s pace, determined not to miss Drake’s house. When I reach 1764, I go even slower until the opening to his driveway appears. Or, rather, his closed gates.
Ugh.
I get out of my car, killing the engine to be safe, and walk up to them. I can flick the thing securing them at the top over and unbolt them no problem, but my issue is the long stick things with handles making sure the gates stay in the ground. The metal poles disappear into the concrete of his driveway, an inch away from my fingertips.
Driveway gates were not made for short people.
I take a deep breath and lean right over the top of them, stretching my fingers as far as possible. I’m still not even close to grasping the poles, so I swing back down onto my feet with a huff.
Fuck tall people.
I glance at the gate again, but let’s be honest. Unless I’m wearing heels, I’m simply not reaching those damn bolts. So, instead of making a further fool of myself, I get back into my car to work.
I turn the key so the radio comes on and turn it down to a low hum. Vince Fulton stares at me from the top of Natalie’s D.O.M. agreement. I should have asked Carlton to get me some information on him earlier, but I was so wrapped up in learning about Natalie and Nick that I forgot.
Bad Noelle. Bad, bad Noelle.
I doubt even Google can help with this. Besides, I know the basics. He graduated with Devin, went straight into an apprenticeship with his old man at Fulton Builders’ Inc. and has been there ever since. His sexual preferences weren’t something I ever found myself wanting to know.
That’s the problem with this job. You find out things that are better left hidden.
Dirty little secrets are always dirty, but they rarely stay little or secrets.
I drop my head back against my seat, groaning. Once again, there are way too many people in too many places. There are too many motives and opportunities for far too little people. Not everyone should have a motive or an opportunity, but yet again in this case, they do.
Small-town living really does have its drawbacks.
“What are you doin’?”
I turn at the sound of Drake’s voice, my eyes meeting his through my window. I bring it down a little. “Waiting,” I answer.
“Why?” His lips turn up.
“I can’t, um, reach the bottom things for your gate,” I mutter, looking down.
He hears perfectly if his laugh is anything to go by. “Come on. I bought wine, too.”
“Are you attempting to get me drunk?”
“Noelle, if you and wine are in the same room, you don’t need me to help you.”
I push my door open, grab my things, and follow him to the gates. “I’d take offense to that if I could ever take offense to anything.”
“Did your soul get swallowed when you watched Harry Potter, by any chance?” He glances back at me, one eyebrow raised, then reaches over and opens the gate.
Bastard. “No, actually. I think Nonna ate my soul when I came home single, without the faintest prospect of a boyfriend, let alone the husband she expected.” I sniff and follow him up the two-car-long driveway. “I think she ate all the fucks I had, too.”
Drake laughs. The rich sound sends tingles through me. “Is she giving it back now that you’re dating?”
“Oh, this is dating? I thought we were being nice to each other.”
“And still fighting on a daily basis.”
“Did we fight yesterday?”
“I think so.”
“Crap. There goes my alternative explanation.” I sigh heavily.
He laughs again, putting his key in the door. He swings it open and steps in, glancing back at me with a small smile.
Okay. So I’m definitely curious.
Is it wrong to say mostly about his bedroom?
No. Definitely not.
I beat down that little crazy desire before it gets too loud and my brain-to-mouth filter goes on a coffee break.
“Take these,” Drake instructs, holding two pizza boxes out to me. Bottles clink in the plastic bag on his arm.
“Why?”
“So you can go and put them on the coffee table while I pour you a glass of wine?”
“You’re real lucky you followed up that order with ‘a glass of wine.’” I sniff and take the boxes into the front room.
Oh. This is pretty. Not girly pretty though. The black leather sofa is broken up by charcoal and cobalt-blue throw cushions, and the bright, fluffy rug beneath the dark, wooden coffee table matches them perfectly. A huge TV is attached to the wall above the black marble fireplace, and blue curtains with a hint of charcoal and black stripes at the top hang by the windows on either side of the room. There isn’t much furniture other than a wooden bookcase and side cupboard that match the coffee table.
Pictures sit on top of the cupboard but I don’t get to look because Drake comes into the room and sets a glass of wine down onto a coaster.
“Thank you.” I look up with a smile as he takes a seat on the sofa next to me, putting his beer on another coaster.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever thanked me before.”
“You haven’t fucked me hard enough yet.”
“Do you like cold pizza? It can be arranged.”
“Ignore me,” I tell him. Fucking filter. Where is it when I need it? Oh yeah. It saw wine and got thirsty. “I’ve had a long day and my filter is drunk off the wine fumes.”
Drake grins, one that lights up his eyes and makes my stomach flutter. “Then feed it.”
“That’s one thing it doesn’t need.” I take the box he’s handing me and open it. Cheesy, pepperoni goodness assaults my senses, and I sigh happily. Yes, this is what I need after today. After the crazy revelations by Madison.
“Did you just come?”
My lips thin, and I face him. “Do you want me to shove that beer bottle up your backside?”
“Can I finish it first?” That. Fucking. Grin.
“Sure—once I’ve tipped you upside down.”
“Now that you have to video. You’re nothin’ compared to me, cupcake. I could flick you and the only thing that’d keep you standin’ would be your attitude.”
“So my attitude is larger than life.” I pick a piece of pepperoni off my slice and raise my eyebrows. “Better than it being smaller than a single sperm.”
“Why? Because sperm can procreate?”
“Please. If my attitude were sperm, it’d be the whole thing. The one trillion little things that come out each time.”
Drake snorts. “You make ejaculation sound like it’s an ant infestation.”
“Depends if you want to get pregnant or not. Oh, and contraception. Because if it isn’t and you don’t, then you’re gonna need a super exterminator to get rid of that potential kink in the road.”
“You talk far too much when you should be eating.” He grabs my hand and shoves my slice of pizza into my mouth.
I gasp as the hot sauce coats my lips. “You bastard!”
“Is that your pet name for me?” He bites into his own pizza and chews. “Because that could be so fucking hot in the right context.”
“Like when I’m shoving your beer bottle up your ass?”
“I love it when you threaten me. It’s like my cock is keeping tally and the more you do, the harder your next fuck is.”
“Your cock keeps tally? What is it? A fucking pencil?”
“Long and hard? There’s a good chance.”
“I suggest your piece of paper hand takes a break, because as long as your cock keeps tally of my threats, it’s getting nowhere near my sharpener.”
Drake stops. His grip on his pizza loosens and the slice flops down. Luckily for him, he only just picked it up, so the hot toppings fall into the box and not his lap.
“Did you just refer to your pussy as a sharpener?”
