Page 76 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
I slipped on a T-shirt and then realized it wasn’t my nightshirt but one of his white undershirts. It was shorter, almost to the top of my thighs, and my still-hard nipples poked out indecently, but it matched my mood. I padded downstairs, flipping on only a lamp in the living room so as not to disturb the night too much.
The refrigerator shone brightly, and I blinked until I could see the contents. Leftover chi
cken potpie from last night. An uncooked lasagna I had put together in anticipation for tonight. Ingredients for sandwiches. It was all wrong. The blackberry cheesecake beckoned, but it was for the restaurant. And besides, I couldn’t get away with eating sweets on an empty stomach. I wasn’t a kid anymore.
The squeak of the pantry door alerted me that Colin hadn’t listened. That wasn’t a surprise, of course. Colin could be extremely obedient…so long as he wanted to be. Any docility he displayed, it wasn’t so much an act as much as it was a complete lack of show. He’d do what he wanted. Sometimes the rest of us would like it, sometimes we wouldn’t, but his actions were his own, without any of the pomp and circumstance of rebellion or pride.
I liked to think we had that in common. I was happy to obey him when I could.
That he’d pressured Rick because of me, well, I didn’t like that. But that was Colin, and I had to accept it if I wanted him. I wouldn’t be so vulgar as to try to change him.
And me talking to Andrew, well, Colin wouldn’t like that. But I’d had to do that, and I wished he could accept that too. If only he’d heard me when I’d had the courage to tell him.
He held up a box of pancake mix and quirked his eyebrow in question. I supposed he’d used up his allotment of words.
“Sure.” I held out my hand.
He walked past me and got a bowl. I rolled my eyes. Stubborn man.
I heated the griddle and greased it with butter—liberally, because these hips didn’t fill themselves out—while he mixed the ingredients. He poured the batter, and when it was time, I flipped them over.
We made six pancakes, split two for me and four for Colin, and had just sat down to eat when Colin’s phone rang. I pushed back the resentment. At ten at night, it would only be Philip.
“Hi,” he said. “No, not sleeping.”
I made a face at him.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said.
With a wicked smile, I trailed my foot up the inside of his leg. If he was going to take calls during dinner, at least I could have a little fun.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “You can ask her.”
He handed me the phone, paying me back twofold for my little tease. Damn.
Not really having a choice, I took the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Allie. This is Rose.”
My eyes flew to Colin’s, but I said, “Oh. Hi there.”
“Listen. I wanted to apologize for giving you a hard time when we met. And I was hoping you’d all come over for dinner. Bailey too.”
I opened my mouth and then shut it. How could I get out of this? It wasn’t a rhetorical question. My eyes beseeched Colin. He shrugged. Useless, stubborn man.
“I’d love to,” I said.
She laughed. “It won’t be that bad. I promise.”
I didn’t quite believe her, but it didn’t matter. “I’ll be fine.” Pray that it was true.
“Okay,” she said. “You’ll see. How about next Saturday night at seven?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Oh, and I’ll host it at Philip’s. You’ve already been there, and it encourages him to come if we have it in his house.” She laughed. “See you there.”
“Bye,” I choked out.
