She's a Spitfire (Tough Love Book 2) by Chloe Liese

Author:Chloe Liese [Liese, Chloe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Zed

Whatever bird that was outside, I wanted to murder it. I’d left my gun in Boston though, and with the exception of wanting to pick off the squawking menace outside the window, I hadn’t missed the thing. I’d hated having a firearm on me whenever I’d needed to. Hated that I’d had to aim, Dad behind me with arms crossed, at a target’s head and heart.

It did something to a person, systematically practicing, visualizing, eliminating another human being. And I could be an asshole—demanding, particular, always ready for a good fist fight—but I wasn’t a killer. Until I’d had to be. And I still hadn’t told Nairne.

Who, speaking of, was underneath me, her fingers sliding through my hair. I cracked my eyelids open, knowing sunlight was going to feel like ice picks puncturing my eye balls.

I groaned and burrowed into her stomach.

Nairne laughed quietly, but never broke her fingers’ rhythm through my hair. Which felt really good against the thudding headache building in the back of my head. Goddamn tequila.

“You and Lucas upstaged Elodie and me, I think,” she whispered.

I stared at her. Wide green eyes like emeralds. Auburn hair that turned sable brown in shadow and a fiery red as the sun touched it. She had her glasses on and I had a death grip around her waist like I’d made a pillow of her torso and passed out. Elodie slept faced away from us, and it looked like I’d pulled Nairne as close to the wall as possible, away from her.

“We got pretty trashed, but it was worth it. He and I haven’t blown off steam like that in…”

“Ever?” Nairne offered. Her scalp massage didn’t stop. “I can imagine. You had to be responsible and careful back in Boston. I’d assume the occasion when letting loose was either plausible or safe was rare.”

I groaned in agreement.

My throat had gunk, my head felt like a jackhammer was rattling inside it, and I needed a shower. Why not spill my saddest, darkest secret when I had a raging hangover and nothing in my stomach? I felt like shit anyway. It felt apropos. I turned my face and kissed her wrist as her hand made another pass through my hair. “I need to talk to you. Shower with me?”

Nairne’s hands paused. “Talk? Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” If I were honest, I would have said hell no.

“All right.”

I picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. She asked me to set her on the toilet and I held my breath, waiting for her to kick me out like she always did. But she didn’t. I turned on the water and peeled off my clothes. Checked the water and felt it was still frigid. European plumbing didn’t offer hot water fast.

“Bollocks,” she muttered.

I turned over my shoulder and saw her leaned over. I knew Nairne preferred to self-catheterize at least three times a day to avoid the possibility of an accident or infection. She had scant sensation with her bladder and found pissing herself mortifying.

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