Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
“Baby? Please tell me you’re kidding.” Rare amusement coats Gareth’s words. “You should’ve seen the picture before he burned it, Glyn. Kill looked like a beautiful princess.”
I can’t help the suppressed laughter that shakes my shoulder at the thought of Killian in a dress.
He, however, seems extremely displeased with this conversation since he glares at both his brother and mother while tapping a finger on the table.
“You feel accomplished or something?” he asks his brother.
Gareth raises a brow. “Very.”
The dinner continues to be lighthearted, fun, yet a bit tense whenever any words are exchanged between Killian and his father.
But I like him with his family. From the outside looking in, he’s not any different from normal and I think that’s the scariest thing about Killian.
Maybe it’s the saddest, too. Because all of his actions and words are learned behavior he perfected to keep his mother happy.
Will I be like her in the future? Completely oblivious to the signs and to how none of Killian’s actions or words are coming from inside him?
Will I be happy just having him around?
After dinner, we watch a family movie and Reina keeps bringing us all sorts of snacks.
She ends up falling asleep halfway through, and Mr. Carson carries her in his arms without saying a word to the rest of us.
As soon as they disappear up the stairs, Killian takes my hand. “Let’s go.”
“But the film isn’t over.”
“Fuck the film. You can watch it later.”
“Killian,” I whisper-yell. “We’re in your parents' house.”
“So? They have sex all the time. They’re probably in the middle of it as we speak.”
Gareth throws a pillow at his head. “Thanks for the image, motherfucker.”
Killian throws it back. Harder. “How do you think you came to life, sunshine? By shitting rainbows?” He tugs on my hand. “We’re leaving. Now.”
I give Gareth an apologetic glance and let Killian take me up the stairs.
“You know, we could’ve stayed a little and finished the film like normal people before you started thinking with your dick,” I say as we reach what I suppose is his room.
It looks like a copy of the one in the Heathens’ mansion, but there’s a full-length mirror on the opposite wall with some American football awards on each side.
I can’t help the urge to check that part of him. It’s strange how much I like discovering these things about him.
He once told me that football—American—helped him with his impulse control, but that’s about it.
Like everything in his life, he never cares about anything too deeply.
Even medicine seems like a stepping stone to him, but at least it’s one he actually enjoys.
Killian kicks the door shut behind him. “Good to know your sense of sarcasm could be upgraded. Also, I’m calling bullshit on the normal people part. If you were normal, you wouldn’t get off on being roughened up like a little dirty whore.”
My cheeks heat as I release an award and face him. “Killian!”
“What?”
“Can you not?”
“Not what?”
“Call me a whore outside of sex, you perverted prick.”
“Let’s get you naked first and then I’ll consider it.”
“I want to sketch something first.”
“Do it after.”
“No, I have grasp it now before it escapes me. I’ll sketch it real quick and redraw it later.”
“What is it?”
“I only have a feeling, so I won’t know for certain until I put it to paper.” I grin. “I’m weird and different like that.”
“Is it possibly a nude?”
“I don’t usually do those.”
“Usually?”
“I do them in class sometimes.”
“I need to have a word with your college so they’ll ban you from drawing naked people.”
“Stop it, you tyrant.” I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t see me moaning about you touching patients and seeing them naked.”
“That’s different. They’re patients.”
“And this is art.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Start convincing me then.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you say you want to sketch?” He retrieves a big stack of big white paper from the drawer and fishes out a mechanical pencil and tosses them on the rug opposite a huge mirror. “Sketch.”
I sit cross-legged on the floor and narrow my eyes on him. “Does that mean you’ll wait until I finish?”
“You know I’m not a patient man. At least, not when it comes to you.” He kneels behind me and meets my gaze in the mirror, his dark and harsh like the worst storm from the hurricane season. His finger grabs hold of the strap of my dress and slides it down my arm. “How about we both do our thing?”
“I’m not going to sketch while you’re touching me.” My voice becomes low, definitely laced with arousal.
“That wasn’t a request, Glyndon. Either we do this while you’re sketching or without it. Either would work with me.”
“You damn dictator.” I glare at him through the mirror. “I’m going to pretend you’re not there.”
A low chuckle fills the room. “By all means. I’d love to see you try.”