Eight (A pINK Novel, #2) by K.S. Thomas

Author:K.S. Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: tattoo artist, tattoo shop, cowboy, humor, second chance romance, love triangle
Publisher: Never Did Point North Publishing
Published: 2016-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

RIOT

I should be happy. And I would be, if Sev’s words weren’t ringing in my ear every time I have a moment to linger with my own thoughts. Not that it’s happened often since Memphis showed up here last night, and while I’m on it, Sev’s accusations regarding my selfishness probably don’t qualify as my own thoughts either. But, there they are, slowly but surely taking over every second of bliss I’m given.

It’s time.

I had last night and it was heaven. It may, for all eternity, go down as the best night of my life, if for no other reason than there may not be another after we talk about all the things we’ve been avoiding since being together felt so much fucking better than talking about why we were ever apart.

The adrenaline rushes in my ears so loud I can barely hear him humming to himself. He always does this. Hums when he’s content. Just one of the million little things I’ve missed about him.

I move my hand, fingers still twined with his, over my chest so his arm is around me and my back is to his front. It feels safe. Safe to be cocooned in his broad frame. Safer still not to have to maintain eye contact.

“Did I ever tell you that twins run in my family?” I ask, breaking the silence with the only thing I could think of. It will eventually lead to where I need it to go, but it’s a really roundabout way of starting a conversation.

“Twins, huh?” He chuckles. “I think we’d be up to the task. Though, I’m not sure you need to worry about that this morning.” We used condoms. We always use condoms. They’re not always a hundred percent effective. He knows this. Just not to the same extent I do. But I’m skipping ahead. We’re not there yet.

“Sketch was a twin,” I continue, purposely keeping my voice especially low. Maybe if he has to strain to listen he’ll be too distracted trying to make out the words I’m saying to read much into what they mean. Not because I don’t want him to understand, I just need time to get it out. I can’t afford for him to jump the gun and reach his own conclusions. Not when odds are high he’d get it wrong.

“She was? What happened?” He squeezes my hand, reminding me I’m not alone in this, even when it feels that way.

“Her sister, our sister, Sybil, died when she was five days old. She had several health problems early on in my mom’s pregnancy and just never developed at the same rate Stella did.” I think my mother always blamed her for this. Like she was the greedy twin who sucked all the life out of the womb, leaving her sister to die. It’s never been said, but my mother’s disdain for both of us has always been pretty loud. Though, I’ve never quite understood how I figured into things, other than, I wasn’t the daughter she lost.

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