Tall, Tatted and Tempting 7 страница

It only takes a few pulls, and I rise up on my tiptoes, spilling onto the towel on the sink. I think about how it would feel to be inside her right now, and my balls lift up tight against my body as I come. Oh, God. God, I want to be inside her so bad.

I sink back down onto my heels, spent. I lean heavily against the door, trying to catch my breath. The door shakes with the pounding of a heavy fist. I wash my hands, and throw the towel in the hamper. Shit. I’m glad I did that. But I wish it had happened differently.

I tuck myself back into my jeans, and I’m still semi-hard, but not so hard that I can’t walk. I open the door, and Paul greets me with an arched brow. “Better?” he asks, grinning.

Fuck you, dumbass, I sign.

“Fuck you,” he repeats, laughing. “Oh, wait. You already got fucked.” He tilts his head at me. “How was it?”

I jerk him into the bathroom with me. I didn’t fuck her.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, tell it to someone who couldn’t hear her crying out in here.” He pushes against my chest playfully. “Next time, warn a guy so he can leave. That shit was loud.”

What was loud? I’m confused.

Very dramatically, he signs, “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Logan! Logan! Logan!” He punches me again. This time it hurts. I rub at the spot. “That shit would have been hot if it hadn’t been my brother on the other side of the door. As it was, it was just awkward.”

I couldn’t hear her. Sorry. I am. Well, sort of.

“No shit,” he says. He’s looking very closely at me. “You all right?”

I nod. Then I shake my head. Fuck, I don’t know.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s making me crazy, man. Stark-fucking crazy.

“You just got laid, and you’re complaining?” He waves his hands in dismissal. “I don’t even want to hear it. Do you know how long it’s been for me? Shit, asshole. You don’t get to be all torn up inside when you just got some.”

I didn’t get any.

“Shut up. And stop rubbing it in.”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair and close my eyes.

He taps my chest with his open palm, forcing me to open my eyes. “Wait. You’re serious.”

I nod. I said something stupid to her. She was crushed. And it was all my fault.

“So...” he prompts

So, I wanted to make her feel better. I’m not giving you details.

“It’s like you’re being re-virginized. That shit’s fucked up.” He has this mock look of abjection on his face.

I can’t hold back my grin. Tell me about it.

“You’re going to be late for work,” Paul warns.

Shit. I am going to be late for work. I run out of the bathroom just as Hayley runs in. Paul picks her up and dances around with her in his arms. He has her every other Friday until the next Friday. And he loves every second of it.

Pete’s standing beside Kit in the living room. “You ready?” he asks.

Kit’s shuffling from foot to foot, avoiding my eyes. I walk over to her, tip her face up to mine and kiss her. It’s a kiss full of promises of what could be. And what’s not possible yet. She’s breathless and clutching my shoulders when I pull back. “Thank you,” she says. She signs it at the same time and my heart swells.

Ready, I sign to Pete.

He follows us into the hallway and I catch him looking at Kit’s ass. Knock it off, I sign to him.

He grins and shrugs. I can’t help it.

I can, I warn. I mock punching my fist into my open palm.

He looks away somewhat sheepishly. I motion for him to look at me. Help me take care of Kit tonight? In case I get busy with something.

Pete nods. He understands exactly what I mean.

The name of the club is Bounce. Logan leads me by my fingertips through the back door, but on the way from the street, I see a huge line out front, and a few men about Logan’s size watching the door. This place is nothing like I expected. It’s a lot bigger.

A big, burly guy in an apron stops us as we walk inside the rear entrance and puts a hand in the middle of Logan’s chest. He looks at me and lifts his brow.

Logan starts to sign something and Pete translates. “She’s with me.” Pete sheepishly looks over at me and points a thumb toward Logan. “Well, with him,” Pete admits. “She’s 19,” Pete interprets. The guy motions over a man with a stamp pad and he stamps the word “no” on the back of my hand. I roll my eyes. Seriously?

“It’s a bar sweetheart. I’ll get in all sorts of trouble if someone serves you when they shouldn’t.” He has him stamp Pete’s hand too.

I nod. I understand.

“Is she deaf, too?” he asks.

Logan shakes his head.

I think he says something like “flavor of the night” as he walks away, rolling his eyes. Pete goes with him.

Logan leads me to the end of the bar and shoves a really big guy off his stool. The man teeters, complains, and turns to find Logan standing behind him. The man holds up both hands like he’s surrendering to the cops, turns and walks away. “Why did you that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You needed a seat.”

He says it like I needed a soda. “But you just shoved him off the chair.”

Logan follows him with his yes. “He didn’t care.”

“He didn’t care because he thought you would kick his butt if he said anything.”

He nods. Like he would kick his butt. Seriously?

“What?” he asks. He pats the stool. I slide onto it slowly and look at him.

“You want me to stay here?” I point to the stool. The bar. The general area.

He nods. He tips my face up so that I look at him. “Don’t drink anything unless the bartender gets it for you. Do you understand?”

Not really, but I nod.

“I’m serious,” he says.

“Where are you going?”

“To work.” He presses his lips to my forehead, holding there for a moment. Then he bends his head and says close to my ear. “Just so you know -- I can still taste you on my lips.” He looks down toward my lap. Heat floods my face. I’m probably as red as a tomato, but I force myself to look into his eyes.

“Wish I could say the same.”

He groans, pushes back from me, winks, and walks away.

I look down at the bar counter, and see the perky blonde who’s making drinks. She shoots me the stink eye and says, “What can I get for you?”

“Root beer?” I ask. She raises a brow, nods, and pours one from the tap on the bar.

“How do you know Logan?” she asks as she slides my drink over to me.

The words “he’s my boyfriend” come unbidden to my lips. But I bite them back. “I’m staying with the boys for a bit.”

Her brows shoot up toward her hairline. “Really?”

I nod, taking a sip of my root beer. “Thanks,” I say absently, pointing toward the drink.

She drops two cherries with stems into it and smiles. “I’m Abby.” She holds out her hand and I take it. She has a firm grip. I like that.

“Kit,” I say. “So, are you one of the thousands of women Logan has slept with?” I ask. I try to make a flippant sound, but if the look on her face is indication, I fail. I don’t really want the answer. But then again, I do.

She laughs. “Honey, I have more respect for myself than that.” She looks at me for a moment as she pours someone else a beer with a perfect head. “You?”

I feel much better about her knowing she hasn’t slept with him. “No. But girl, do I want to.” I force a chuckle that I don’t really feel past my lips.

“He has that effect on all the girls.” She laughs. “Hang in there.”

I don’t want to be like all the girls.

Someone taps the bar in front of her rudely, and she looks up scowling. “Don’t ever bang on my fucking bar again, asshole,” she says, but there’s a smile under her words, I can tell.

“Oh, come on, Abby,” he says. “You know you love it when I bang you.”

Snickers erupt around the bar. He leans over the bar and she stands up on her tiptoes, putting all her weight on her arms, so she can touch her lips to his. She points to me. “Ford, this is Kit.”

Ford looks over at me and smiles.

“Kit came in with Logan,” Abby explains. She shoots him an odd look and he narrows his eyes at her, and then looks over at me.

“Say it ain’t so,” he says with a laugh.

I press my lips together, not sure what he’s insinuating.

“It’s about time somebody caught that bastard.” He laughs, rubbing his hands together with excitement. “Payback’s a bitch,” he says. Then he saunters off into the crowd.

“Ford works with Logan in the front,” she explains in between pouring drinks. She takes a twenty from a guy and presses it down her top. I can see the tip of it sticking up from her cleavage. And so can her customer. He licks his lips. “Oh, did you want change?” she asks sweetly. He shakes his head, laughs and walks away.

“Have you worked here long?” I shout. The band is just getting started on the stage, tuning their instruments and playing some snippets of music. I turn around to look toward them. The lead singer is already shirtless. But the crowd seems to love it.

“About a year,” she says. She’s working quickly to fill drinks, and the club is getting busier and busier. I almost wish I could go and help her. I feel pretty useless sitting on the sidelines like this with nothing to do.

“Who’s the band?” I ask, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.

She shrugs. “They’re new.”

I hear the beginnings of Free Bird start to play and my fingers itch. I swipe the tip of my finger across the calluses on my thumb and wish it was me on that stage. But it can’t be. They’re just doing cover songs, anyway. But they’re songs that make my fingers twitch and make my heart start to beat faster.

I turn around to watch them.

They’re really very good. But there’s one problem. Their lead guitarist is stinking drunk. They barely got through their warm up, and he’s already stumbling over the cords. Their bassist turns to glare at him, and he grins and keeps on playing. But he can barely stay on his feet. He motions to a waitress and she brings him a shot. He tips it back and keeps on playing.

The bass guitarist is pissed. I can tell. I would be too. You don’t mess with the music. Ever. I’m itchy on the stool, and I want to go and take the guitar from him and take over. I force myself to sit still.

Logan stalks close to me from across the room and stops half way. “You ok?” he mouths. I nod at him and shoo him away with my hands. He grins at me, and stays where he can look my way. I hope he’s not planning to hover all night.

I twitch for a completely different reason when I see a girl walk up to Logan. She’s wearing a short skirt and a skimpy top, and her boobs are sitting up like they’re stacked on a shelf for people to look at. Logan’s eyes skim across her chest, and she lays her hand on his arm, leaning close to him. I scoot to the edge of the chair, watching to see how he reacts. He watches her lips for a moment, and then puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back. She scowls. He takes a step back from her, and my heart thrills.

“Damn,” Abby says. “Never thought I’d see that happen.”

I look over at her. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen him push one away.”

Logan looks over at me and winks.

The girl glares at me, and turns to say something sharp to him. He looks at her kindly, but there’s no heat in his gaze. At least not the kind she was looking for. She huffs off.

Suddenly, the band’s amp screeches loudly and their lead guitarist stumbles, falling to his knees. His buddies stop playing and try to stand him up, but he just lays there laughing.

The crowd starts to shout, pushing toward the stage. They are not happy. And I can’t say I blame them.

I motion to Logan, and he rolls his eyes as he walks toward the stage. The crew staggers the lead guitarist to his feet and lifts the guitar strap over his head, but he’s too wobbly to stand. Logan bends, shoves his shoulder into the man’s middle, and hoists him over his back. Logan winks at me as he walks toward the back of the bar and disappears behind a curtain. The band members are huddled in a circle, trying to figure out if they can continue or not without their lead guitarist.

My fingers twitch and I wiggle my feet, trying to keep away. But it’s impossible. I slide from the stool, my legs wobbly as I walk over, and very nonchalantly step onto the stage. My heart is pounding in my ears and I couldn’t utter a sound if I wanted to, my throat is so tight. But I pick up the abandoned guitar, slide the strap over my head, and look at the band members. I pull my pic out of my pocket and hover over the steel strings. One of them reaches to take the guitar from me. But I start to play before he can.

Sweet Child of Mine rolls off my fingertips, the sound of it filling the space, and the men step back, aghast at the little girl who’s playing the big boys’ guitar. Truth be told, it’s too big for me, but I don’t let that stop me. “We going to play or what, boys?” I yell. But I don’t stop playing, no matter what. The crowd is hooting, and I do a quick show for them.

The boys of the band all rearrange themselves, and the lead singer comes to me and asks, “What can you play?”

“I can play anything you can sing,” I say with a laugh. My blood is surging in my veins, and the rhythm of the music is taking me away with it.

“Can you be more specific?” he asks. But he’s smiling and watching my fingers as they fly around on the guitar. He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He goes back to the mic and says, “We have a surprise for you, folks!” He motions toward me. “She’s a whole lot prettier than our usual lead guitarist, don’t you think?”

The crowd yells and claps. I keep playing, until I wind down Sweet Child of Mine. I stop and look up the lead, grinning. “What’s next?” I ask.

He raises a brow. “ Hotel California?” he asks.

I nod. I was playing that when I was eight. But I wait for the drummer to pick up the beat, and then I fall in with it. Their bass guitar duels with me for a minute and then we find a rhythm.

I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Not since I left my band back home. I forgot how much I missed this.

We finish up the song and the lead singer mouths at me, “ Welcome to the Jungle?”

I nod, laughing. I look out over the crowd and see Logan leaning against a post in the middle of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his mouth is open slightly. I blow him a kiss and he shakes his head, smiling. Goodness, that boy is pretty. He gives me a thumbs up and walks away.

I wish I could share this with him, because this is the best feeling ever. The fans, the sound, the way I feel complete when I do this… there’s nothing that compares. I’m not scared. Not in the least bit. I love this. I love music. I love the guitar. And I’m afraid I’m a little bit in love with Logan.

I turn around to watch Kit as she plays. Her cheeks are all rosy, and she’s smiling. Every now and then, they give her a quick solo, and she strums the guitar, dancing around, her knees bending as she works it. By the way the crowd’s going crazy, I’d guess she’s really good at this.

I can feel the thump of the music in the floor and on the walls, and I stop and rest my hand on one of the speakers.

Kit’s hair is all wet, and her face is shining. She’s never looked more beautiful to me. This is obviously what she was born to do. And I can’t help but wonder why she’s busking in a subway for pennies rather than doing this full time. This is where her future lies. This is her passion.

I’m happy just watching her. And I have to keep reminding myself to keep an eye on the crowd, rather than both my eyes on her.

Someone chucks my shoulder and I look over to find Pete standing beside me grinning. “Damn, she’s good,” he says. He plays some air guitar, and I can’t help but laugh at him. He waves at me and says, “Hell, I’ll leave it to the pro.” He points a finger toward Kit. “Did you know she could do that?”

I shrug. I knew she could play. But they apparently think she’s really good. I motion to the crowd.

I watch as the lead singer walks toward Kit and says something in her ear. He’s shirtless and sweaty, and she brushes him away like he’s a pesky fly. He goes, but he’s laughing when he does it, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I stand up taller.

“He’s not worth it,” Pete says.

I know. But I still don’t like it.

“You got it bad for this one, don’t you?” he asks. He’s smiling, but his question is serious.

I nod. I don’t need to say more than that. I do have it bad for this girl.

The band breaks, and Kit wipes her hairline with her forearm. The lead singer walks toward her, but I go that direction and hop onto the stage before he can get to her. He nearly bumps into my back. But he stops and goes the other way.

“Oh my God!” she says, excitement in her eyes as she jumps in place in front of me. “Did you see that?” she asks.

Then she grabs my shoulders, jumps, and wraps her legs around my waist. She kisses me. She tastes like root beer and excitement as she licks into me. I hold her ass, and jerk her tighter against me. The owner of the club waves and I catch him out of the corner of my eye. He jerks his thumb toward the back of the club. I nod and carry Kit in that direction. But she’s all hyped up on nerves and attitude. And she hasn’t taken her lips from mine. I carry her with her legs still wrapped around my waist into the storage room, and back her up against the wall. She’s tangling her tongue with mine, and I don’t ever want her to stop.

She finally pulls back and looks at me, her hands clutching my face. “Did you see that?” she asks.

“See what?” I have lost all my wits in her kiss.

“Me playing. Did you see it?”

I nod, nuzzling my nose into her neck. “You were amazing.”

“I know! Wasn’t I? Oh my God, I want to go back out there.” She unclenches her legs from around my waist and drops her feet to the floor. She starts to pace back and forth across the room, chewing on her fingernail. I can’t see her lips moving at all, but I lean against the wall and smile at her. “What’s so funny?” she asks, stopping to look at me.

“Nothing,” I say. I walk to her and brush her sweaty hair from her neck. “You’re just so fucking beautiful.” She shivers as I blow across her neck.

Her hand comes up to cover mine where it lays on her shoulder, and I get more comfort from that little touch than I ever have from a girl I’ve been inside. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she says.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“I haven’t had this much fun in a really long time,” she admits. She’s glowing.

I lean down and kiss her, because she’s that damn pretty. She hears something from the doorway, and turns to look that way. “I’ll be right there,” she says, holding up a finger. She looks up at me. “They’re ready to get started again.”

“I have to get back to work, anyway. The owner just sent us back here because he was afraid I was going to fuck you on the stage.”

She covers her mouth with her hand. “So, they think we’re having sex back here. Are you serious?” Her eyes are wide.

I can’t keep from grinning. “Probably.”

“Do you do that back here often?” she asks.

I freeze. I don’t want to answer her. Because I have done it. She doesn’t push for an answer. But she heaves a sigh and shoves herself away from me. I feel the loss of her immediately. “Don’t do that,” I say, taking her face in my hands. “I can’t change my past.”

She looks deep into my eyes and says, “I know. I didn’t ask you to. I just have to go back on stage.” She kisses me softly. “Can we come back to this later?” she asks, grinning. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement.

She’s not mad at me. Thank God. “We can come back to this as often as you want.” Any time. Any place.

She darts away from me, and I tug on her fingers to hold her back. She pulls back from me slowly and I ache with wanting to jerk her back into my arms. But she turns and runs away.

She hops back up on the stage and I follow her. The lead singer turns to her, scowling. “You and Logan, huh?” he asks. I can read his lips from where I’m standing.

She grins and nods her head.

He says something that looks like, “Figures,” before he scowls and turns toward me. I point to her and point to my chest and mouth the word “mine” at him. He gets it. He totally gets it. He might not want it to be true. But he knows she’s not in his future. She’s my future.

I go see Abby and get Kit a root beer. She’s been sweating up there for an hour, and they have another set to do. I point to the root beer lever on the fountain and raise my brows. “For you?” Abby asks, with a pointed finger as she fills a glass. I point to Kit. She nods and drops two cherries into it. I turn to take it to Kit and Abby tugs on my sleeve. “Where did she learn to play like that?” Abby asks.

I shrug. I have no idea where she learned to play. All I know is that she’s good. I can tell by the way the crowd is reacting to her. My heart is filled with pride for her. And it’s filled with a lot more. A lot more that she’s probably not ready to address yet.

I take her root beer to her and stand by the side of the stage to wait until she’s done with the song. But she marches down the steps, her fingers flying over the strings, and she leans over, taking the straw into her mouth. She sucks it greedily, and there’s not a man in the room who’s not envious of me right that moment. She never stops playing, but she drains the glass. Then she smiles at me, kisses me quickly and struts back up the steps and onto the stage. Great. Now I have a hard on and so does every man within a twenty foot radius. Suddenly, she runs back down the steps. She nods toward a cherry in the glass and I lift it to her lips. She takes it against the tip of her tongue and closes her lips around it. She pops it off the string with a gentle tug. She nods to the other, and looks at my lips. She taunts me with her grin, and I lift it to my lips and open my mouth for it. I tongue it from the stem, taking my time with it, playing with her, until she leans over, opens her mouth over mine, and takes it back from me.

I pretend to look offended, but I’m so fucking turned on that all I can do is look like an idiot.

I crash onto the stool at the end of the bar I’d vacated when I took over the band’s guitar, and lean my elbows on the table. A grin I can’t suppress tugs at my lips. Abby clinks a root beer down in front of me. “That was amazing!” she says as she tosses in two cherries.

I nod. It was pretty damn amazing. I’m still trying to catch my breath. I lift my wet hair off my neck and roll it into a lump, then let it go.

“You been playing for a long time?” Abby asks. She wipes the bar down with a rag.

“I think I was playing before I could walk,” I admit. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a guitar. “My grandfather gave me my first guitar.” My dad was all for it, until it became the only thing I was good at.

“Well, you can tell.” She raises a hand to give me a high five. “That was fantastic.” She clenches my hand for a second and meets my eyes, smiling. I don’t quite know what to do with that. Yet.

I look around the bar. The place is finally quiet and Logan is stacking chairs on tables for the cleaning crew. He raises the tail of his t-shirt and mops his brow with it. His abs ripple as he bends and a whistle escapes my lips. “Goodness gracious,” I breathe.

“That boy is one fine piece of man candy,” she says, stopping to lick her lips.

“Makes me want to lick him from top to bottom,” I reply softly, more to myself than to her. My face floods with heat when I see that she heard me.

She laughs and keeps cleaning. “What’s stopping you?”

I point to Logan. “He is.”

Her brows shoot up toward her hairline. “Logan won’t scratch your itch?” She points a finger toward him. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give her mouth to mouth, she looks that shocked.

I shake my head. “He scratched my itch. But he won’t let me scratch his,” I whisper fiercely. I have no idea why I’m talking to this girl. Probably because she’s a bartender. They have a natural way of making people open up and spill their guts. Consider me eviscerated.

Abby steps back, her chin dropping toward her chest. She regards me like I just grew two heads. Then she smiles. “It’s about damn time,” she says, throwing her head back with a laugh.

“It’s not funny,” I pout. “And don’t say anything to Ford, ok?” I add.

She holds up a hand like she’s raising it to God and says, “I promise not to say a word.” She laughs again. “Even though it’s the news of the century, I’ll keep it to myself.”

I look up as Pete walks out of the back, but he’s deep in conversation with Bone and another man. I watch them closely. Pete reaches over and shakes hands with Bone. What in the world is that about? You never, ever shake hands with Bone. Ever. That would imply that you made a deal with him. And Bone’s deals never turn out well for anyone but Bone.

Logan smacks his hands together to get Pete’s attention. He signs something really quickly, but Pete brushes him off with a wave. Logan sets down the mop he was wielding, and steps toward the pair of them. Bone squeezes Pete’s shoulder and then Bone walks away from him and straight toward me.

Bone leans back against the counter beside me, and Abby tries to make herself look really busy. I watch Logan as he yells at Pete in sign language. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it’s not pleasant, whatever it is.

Bone looks at me over his shoulder and says, “You got a place to stay tonight, Kit?”

I nod. “Yep. But thanks for checking.”

Bone looks closely at me for a minute. So closely that my skin crawls. “Let me know if you ever need anything.”

“Sure will.” I don’t say more than that. I just play with my straw and wait for him to walk away. It’s best not to antagonize him.

Bone stands up tall, nods at me, and walks toward the back entrance. He leaves. Logan is still yelling at Pete. And Pete’s finally deflating a bit. Logan’s bigger than he is. But that’s not all. Pete looked like he wanted to argue with Logan when they first started talking. But then Logan wraps his fist up in Pete’s shirt and jerks him into his chest. He’s not signing a word. He’s just glaring at Pete until Pete holds up his hands in surrender. If looks could kill, Pete would be a dead lump on the floor.

Logan releases him and Pete falls back off his tiptoes onto his heels. He signs something that calms Logan down, but he’s still pissed, and he starts shoving chairs from place to place. He was stacking them. Now he’s stacking them forcefully. Pete walks toward me and grumbles.

“What were you doing with Bone, Pete?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

“That man’s no good. Don’t let him get you into trouble,” I warn quietly.

“Why does everyone think I’m going to get into trouble?” Pete asks, affronted. He pats his chest. “I can take care of myself.”

“Not with the likes of him,” I say.

He looks up at me, and asks, “What do you know about Bone?”

“More than I want to know,” I admit. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I’ve seen what he’s done to girls at the shelters. I’ve seen how he uses them.

“Mmm hmm,” Pete hums.

Just then, the band members walk out from the back of the building. The lead singer walks toward me and slaps a small pile of bills in front of me. He sits down on a stool next to me, his shoulder a little too close to mine for comfort. I shift away. He doesn’t take the hint.

I look down at the stack of money. “What’s that for?” I ask.

“That’s your cut of the door.”

“What’s that mean?” I ask.

He nods toward the front door. “We get a percentage of the cover charge. That’s your cut. We split it five ways.”

A grin steals across my lips. “Seriously?”

He smiles and nods. “Seriously.” He lays a hand over mine. “You did a good job tonight.”

I slide my hand from under his and wipe it on my jeans. He doesn’t notice. He looks at me like he’s hungry and I’m cake.

I pick up the stack of bills and fan them out in my hand. There’s more than three hundred dollars here. My mouth falls open. “Thanks,” I say. I can live for weeks on this much money.

He shrugs. “You earned it.”

Abby jumps in. She’s watching Logan across the room. And warning me by shooting her eyes in Logan’s direction. “Logan’s girlfriend is an amazing guitar player, huh?” she asks.

“Girlfriend, huh?” he asks me quietly.

I smile and nod. “Girlfriend.” I look over and see Logan walking toward us. He’s not smiling. He’s doing the opposite. I get up and step between him and the lead singer. I didn’t even get his name. Nor do I really want it. I tuck the money in my pocket and put my hands on Logan’s chest. He looks down at me and tries to brush me to the side, but I won’t let him. “When can we go home?” I ask, purposefully tugging him toward me by the loops in his jeans. He finally looks down at me. His brow is furrowed as he glares at me. “What’s the sign for home?” I ask.

Дата добавления: 2014-12-24